


silver tongues and golden lies

by planetsuh



Series: crushed velvet [1]
Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fae & Fairies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 66,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetsuh/pseuds/planetsuh
Summary: Dong Sicheng, third son to the faerie king of the Southern Forest, is shipped off to marry Nakamoto Yuta, bastard son to the king of the Islands and heir to the throne, in an attempt to forge an alliance and stop a war between the two powerful kingdoms.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta
Series: crushed velvet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694662
Comments: 79
Kudos: 265





	1. prologue: heart at sea

**Author's Note:**

> publishing this was very impulsive of me but this outline has been in my wip drafts document for over a year now so here we are.

Sicheng has always loved the sea.

Since he was a child, skin pinking up in the bright, afternoon sun. With freckles on his cheeks and a smile on his face, he danced for his mother on the shore, feet splashing in the crystal clear water. His mother would clap and cheer him on, her laugh echoing like wind chimes, always like music in Sicheng’s ears. That same shore would later betray Sicheng, his mother’s envoy arriving without her, claiming her to be gone with the waves forever.

He remembers tasting the ocean for the first time. A boy he thought he loved taking him down to lay in the sand, slotting their bodies and melding their mouths together. Sicheng could taste the salt on his tongue, as bitter as the sea, and thought that he would love to get lost in it.

Sicheng has always loved the sea, even when the sea betrayed him in the end, bringing him news that changes the course of his life.

The heavy salt of sea spray holds itself on Sicheng’s tongue, soaking in and making him thirsty. He swallows, wincing at the stinging burn, saltwater going down roughly. Next to him, Ten sighs, openly enjoying being out on the relatively calm waters, land fast approaching after a long month of travel.

“Enjoying yourself?” Sicheng can’t help asking, words bitter in his mouth.

Ten’s eyes open minutely, narrowed slits as he looks over at Sicheng. “At least I am not pouting,” he bites back, though there is no real malice to his words. “You look like a sad woodland creature from the stories.”

“I _am_ a sad woodland creature,” Sicheng quips, waving a hand and gesturing to his ear, cartilage coming to a sharp point at the top. “Leave me be, I rather enjoy gloating.”

“Surely there are plenty of other more productive things you could be doing with your time before we arrive to the Islands,” Ten sneers, tone still light and teasing.

Sicheng frowns, letting his mouth pull unattractively. “No,” he muses, turning back to look out at the sea, the never-ending shimmering waves interrupted by the land mass in the distance, like a black fog looming over Sicheng’s mood. “I am quite content to do this.” Ten hums, but says nothing else, turning his attention back to the sea as well.

Unlike Sicheng, Ten is boundlessly excited to be making their trip. Known for their abundant beaches, vibrant culture and sickly sweet nectars, the Islands, both individually and as a collective, are paradise. Sicheng’s Southern Forest imports their fruits and spices from the Islands, opposite tastes that always leave the consumer with a watering mouth and a craving for more. The heart of the kingdom—the mainland of Guenhang, the largest, most central island—is said to have streets overflowing with riches, bustling with humans and faeries alike, living in harmony under the sweet sun sucking the nectar from the ripest fruits.

The Islands, collectively, are under the rule of the royal family of Guenhang. For centuries, the Kims have upheld the strictest of moral codes. Though the Islands are well known for their lustful tourist attractions that seem to bring people in and never let them go, the royal family acts as a pillar of morality for the kingdom to fall back on, ever a beacon of righteousness for their constituents.

Then along came Nakamoto Yuta, bastard son of the king and, as far as Sicheng is concerned, the reason why his path in life has shifted course so drastically.

With a foreign mother and a crude tongue that would make a devil blush, Nakamoto Yuta crash landed into the heart of Guenhang with nothing but a long letter addressed to the king and eyes that seemed to permanently sparkle with mischief. His arrival to Guenhang coincided with the untimely death of the king’s heir, his precious son, and the kingdom mourned the loss of their beloved prince and balked at the sight of a half-foreign bastard very quickly taking his place.

Enter Dong Sicheng, and the story is almost complete.

Third son to King of the Southern Forest, Sicheng learned early on that if he were ever to sit on a throne, it would not be his own kingdom’s. Third son to a faerie king, and a _breeder_ at that, Sicheng’s eyes could not afford to be set on the Southern Forest’s throne made with twisting vines and beautiful roots. The Southern Forest’s throne is unattainable to him, simple as that.

So while the first son is groomed to one day sit on the throne and the second son is taught the ins and outs of the Forest’s cabinet in preparation for the day he is assigned a position, Sicheng is taught etiquette and grace. While his brothers enjoy days out in the hot sun, dripping sweat as they practice with their swords and steeds, Sicheng perfects his calligraphy and straightens out his posture to as perfect as he can get it. His days are long and cold, trapped inside the castle with no outlet for his frustrations with his life. Because of how he was born, he is destined to hang off the arm of someone else, reaping their glory and doing absolutely nothing to earn any for himself.

While Sicheng learns how to be the perfect consort, the Southern Forest stops importing fruits and spices from the Islands, opting to trade with the fae from the east, a neighboring faerie kingdom that backs the Southern Forest when the Islands get aggressive in their grievances against the Forest. Sicheng never entirely understands why the Forest cut off trade with the Islands in the first place, and no one he asks seems to have a clear answer either, as if they would tell him if they did. Nevertheless, a war brews quickly between the two kingdoms, and while the Forest has the backings of the Port’s army, the Islands have nothing, and they know it.

What the Islands need is an alliance. An alliance sealed in marriage is binding until death, and gives the Islands an extra chess piece to play with should tensions with the Forest rise again. As negotiations for a marriage alliance begin, it just so happens that the new heir to the throne, the bastard Nakamoto Yuta, needs a consort at his side. It just so happens that third son to the king of the Southern Forest remains unmarried.

Sicheng is being sent to the Islands as a pawn in a war game. Born to spend his life on the arm of someone more powerful than he will ever be, Sicheng is sent to the Islands to do just that. Nakamoto Yuta, though a bastard, is very powerful. Sicheng could not have hoped for a better husband.

Guenhang looms in the distance. It will only be a few hours now.

“Excited?” Jungwoo chirps beside him. 

Ten snorts, choosing to remain silent. Sicheng passes him a dirty look before turning towards the other member of his envoy. “ _Elated_ ,” Sicheng purrs sarcastically. 

***

The ship docks and Sicheng feels sick.

After a month at sea, being on land feels too strange. Wrong. Sicheng feels his body trying to adjust to the flat, stable land as opposed to the constantly rocking motions of the waves. Next to him, Ten and Jungwoo stand poised, on either side of him and dressed in their finest robes. To be an envoy for a faerie prince is an honor one can only hope to achieve in the Southern Forest. Ten and Jungwoo’s presence beside him is a hard-earned one, and they wear it proudly.

“My prince,” Ten whispers, breaking his composure only slightly, “it is gorgeous here. I am speechless.”

“Yet you continue to talk,” Jungwoo teases.

Sicheng smiles at his envoy, letting their idle chatter fall over him, grounding him. The longest part of their journey is over, but they docked on the outskirts of the island, and mainland Guenhang is still hours away.

One of Sicheng’s handlers, a polite enough member of the council, though his rank is lower, greets a man at the end of the dock, bowing low before shaking the hand of a man standing on land, just a few feet from where the dock ends. The man is tall, stature wide and built with muscle. The man’s presence is intimidating, even through his dark, bulky robes, cloth hanging off his muscles and falling around him, the picture of royalty.

“That must be Seo Youngho,” Jungwoo mutters helpfully. “He is the first born of the most influential lord of the Islands. His name alone is noteworthy, but he has apparently fought and won many battles on behalf of the king and his father. He now acts as advisor to Prince Yuta, and is rumored to become Hand of the King when the prince takes over the throne.”

“Enough with the history lesson,” Ten quips, licking his lips as he looks Seo Youngho up and down. “He is _delicious_.”

“He is _married_ ,” Jungwoo hisses. “To the reverent Lee Taeyong, at that.”

“Would it not be _Seo Taeyong_ now?” Ten drawls, teasing.

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Enough,” he commands gently, bringing his envoy’s attention back to him. “We are not here to gossip.”

“No,” Ten agrees, “but that does not make Seo Youngho, future Hand of the King, any less delicious.”

“Or any less _married_.”

Leaving his chatty envoy behind, Sicheng walks across the dock. His handler and Seo Youngho are engaged in what looks like casual conversation, but one look over his handler’s shoulder, and Sicheng watches as Seo Youngho’s eyes fall onto him, eyes widening slightly in recognition. Sicheng continues to walk alone and unattended, unprecedented for a person of his status, and Seo Youngho seems to realize this as he steps onto the dock, his attention no longer focused on Sicheng’s handler.

“Prince Sicheng,” Seo Youngho greets, voice smooth like honey from the woods, thick and heavy in Sicheng’s ears. “Welcome to the Islands.”

“Thank you,” Sicheng replies passively, holding out a hand. 

Seo Youngho takes his hand, cradling it in one of his much larger hands, bringing it to his mouth as he plants a light kiss to it, no more than a graze. “Is this your first time visiting us?” he asks.

Sicheng is not visiting the Islands. He is here to live out the rest of his days, to marry Nakamoto Yuta and to becomes consort to the throne. There was no clause, written or unwritten, during the negotiations of the alliance that would guarantee Sicheng’s eventual return to the Southern Forest, even for a brief visit.

Nevertheless, Sicheng smiles, close mouthed and polite. “Indeed it is.”

“Well then,” Seo Youngho says lightly, “we must make sure you have a wonderful time, should we not? I am Seo Youngho, and today I will act as your escort into Guenhang.”

“Very well,” Sicheng replies, keeping his tone upbeat. “My envoy and handlers should not take very long unpacking the ship. It was a long trip, but we did not pack heavily, I can assure you.”

Seo Youngho shrugs, his smile easy-going and completely out of place. “No need to worry,” he replies. “I have brought handlers of my own. They will assist in any way needed.”

“Thank you,” Sicheng says, feeling like he has to.

Unpacking the ship _does_ take awhile, and Sicheng is left standing at the edge of the dock, watching as Ten, Jungwoo and his handlers walk back and forth between land and the ship, the dock creaking quietly with every step. Sicheng aiding in the unloading and repacking process would be entirely improper, so he stands and waits in silence, observing as his handlers unload the ship and Youngho’s handlers reload their possessions onto wagons pulled by horses, the entire process finally finishing just as the sun begins setting.

***

The ride into Guenhang is but a few hours, made even longer by the disappearance of the sun, sending Sicheng and his envoy into darkness. Jungwoo lights a lamp swinging from the ceiling of the carriage, but the lighting is shaky and minimal, giving Sicheng a headache more than anything else.

Ten and Jungwoo entertain themselves, trying to spot creatures on the relatively barren pathway, paved in cobblestone and lined with palm trees. Sicheng rests his head against the door of the carriage, looking out through the opening at the pathway and wondering if the scenery in Guenhang will be just as unimpressive. So far, Sicheng has seen nothing of the beach, only the port, which was a clean as one could hope for the most popular dock on the island. Sicheng’s Southern Forest was abundant with life, vegetation thick and wildlife diverse. Traveling north enough led Sicheng to a beautiful beach, sand black and gravely beneath his feet and between his toes, leaving the skin of his heels soft and exfoliated. For a kingdom with supposed beautiful scenery, Sicheng has yet to see any of it.

Their arrival into Guenhang is devoid of any pomp and circumstance. Sicheng’s carriage slows to a stop and Ten and Jungwoo step out first, holding out their hands for Sicheng to follow them. Seo Youngho waits a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back. Sicheng joins him, signaling for his envoy to follow close behind.

“Since we have arrived so late into the evening, the Kims thought it would be best that you retire early and get a good night of rest. Tomorrow morning, a breakfast will be held in celebration of your arrival. There, you can properly meet the King and Queen, and of course, your betrothed.”

_Betrothed_. Sicheng’s stomach coils at the thought.

“As I am sure you are aware, the wedding will be held in a week’s time. I am told you have no family or guests in your honor following you to the Islands?” Sicheng nods his head in confirmation. “Then we will proceed as planned. By the end of the week, you shall be Prince Consort to heir of the throne of the Islands.”

Nausea hits Sicheng’s in waves now, broiling at the edge and threatening to sow out of him. The very thought leaves Sicheng a wrecked mess of shame, so he shoves down the idea, instead looking Seo Youngho in the eye and nodding to indicate his understanding.

“I will now lead you and your envoy to your bedchamber. We received your request to share accommodations with your two handmaidens during the week leading up to your marriage. After that, you will obviously move to shared accommodations with Prince Yuta, while separate accommodations will be provided for your envoy.”

Sicheng looks back at Ten and Jungwoo, both standing at attention and nearly unblinking, waiting for the next move.

“I hope you will find these accommodations to your liking, Prince Sicheng. And I must add, Prince Yuta is _very_ excited to meet you.”

It takes everything in Sicheng not to vomit on the shoes of the future Hand of the King.


	2. part two: flowers bloomed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! im back! i told you guys this update was gonna take awhile, but thankfully the au i was working on when i published this story's prologue has been completed, so i have been spending the past few weeks cranking this bad boy out. this chapter's length will probably explain why this update took so long.
> 
> one quick note i wanna make before the chapter starts is about the difference between breeder faeries and 'normal' faeries. sicheng is a breeder, which means he is a male faerie capable of getting pregnant and having children. very similar to what is commonly written into abo/wolf stories, breeders, like omegas, have male genitalia, but are still capable of having children. if this is something that you are not comfortable reading, don't worry, it isn't a huge part of this story. while yes, sicheng's job as husband to a prince is to provide an heir, any potential pregnancy will not be heavily featured in this story.
> 
> anyways, without further ado, enjoy!

part two: flowers bloomed

Sicheng wakes to a hand running through his hair, lightly tugging on the strands at the roots so as to not sting, but still pull Sicheng from his sleep. He opens his eyes to see Jungwoo hovering over him, a kind smile on his face, button eyes shining in the morning light coming through the window. 

“The breakfast in your honor will start within the next few hours,” Jungwoo says gently, voice warming Sicheng in calming waves. “It is time to get you ready, my prince.”

Reluctantly, Sicheng rises, forgoing any decency as he stumbles towards the washroom, clinging to Jungwoo and letting his robe slip off his shoulder. Jungwoo politely looks away, focusing on keeping his arm steady. When they reach the washroom, Ten is sitting on a stool next to the bath, standing quickly when Sicheng enters the room. “My prince,” he mumbles in greeting with a small tilt of his head, but Sicheng waves it off, walking further into the room, no longer needing Jungwoo’s arm to hold him up. 

Ten removes Sicheng’s robe, handing it off to Jungwoo before guiding Sicheng towards the bath. Sicheng steps inside, immediately sinking into the warm water and sighing deeply as he feels his muscles unclench in the soothing water.

“Rough night?” Ten asks teasingly, working a cloth through the water, wringing it out several times. “From where I rested, it sounded as though you were sleeping quite peacefully.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “The Islands have odd mattresses. My back is quite stiff.”

“I feel the same,” Jungwoo agrees, “they are nothing like the mattresses in the Forest. The material is quite…lumpy.”

“Right,” Ten scoffs. “I, for one, slept like a babe. Lumpy or not, my mattress sent me straight to sleep the second my head hit the pillow. The two of you are complaining over nothing.”

Making a face, Sicheng sits up, water sloshing around him. “I am not complaining! I would not _dare_. This is my new home after all.”

“And you are just so _pleased_ with that development,” Ten quips back.

Jungwoo looks between the two, but both have teasing smiles on their faces, mirth in their eyes as they look at each other. Heaving a relieved sigh, Jungwoo relaxes onto a second stool he finds in the corner of the washroom. Sicheng lets the moment fizzle out on its own, Ten quickly moving on and wringing out the cloth one more time before silently instructing Sicheng to raise his arms over his head. He runs the cloth along his skin after Sicheng does, rubbing harsher on his elbows and wrists than the rest of his arms, allowing the scents from the bathwater to soak into those sweet spots.

The washroom is comfortably silent throughout the rest of Sicheng’s bath. Jungwoo occasionally makes comments about Ten’s bathing strategy, which leads the two to exchange jabs until one of them gets bored and cuts it off. Sicheng is comfortable to stay quiet during the entire procedure, moving his limbs around and changing positions when prompted. Otherwise, he allows the bath to soothe his nerves, which have slowly but surely built the longer he stays awake.

When Sicheng finally stands from the bath, he allows Jungwoo to wrap him in a robe of thicker material, meant to soak up the water from his skin without taking away the honey and vanilla scents Ten infused the bathwater with before Sicheng entered the washroom. Ten leaves the room to prepare Sicheng’s outfit and beauty products as Jungwoo sinks to his knees to pat Sicheng’s legs dry with another cloth, saving him from dripping water everywhere he walks. Jungwoo’s expression bothers Sicheng, looking as though he has something to say but no nerve to say it.

“Jungwoo,” Sicheng starts gently, waiting until Jungwoo looks up at Sicheng before continuing, “is there something on your mind?”

“No,” Jungwoo instantly replies with wide eyes. “Nothing at all, my prince.”

Sicheng smiles. “I know that is not true. At any given point, you or Ten always have at least one thing on your mind. It is a quirk of both of yours. Tell me, what is it?”

Jungwoo pauses in the dabbing motions against his legs, looking down at his hands and wringing the cloth between them.

“Do you truly not like it here?” Jungwoo finally asks, voice quiet, trying to keep Ten from hearing. “Is it as Ten implied? Are you not pleased to be here?”

Sicheng sighs. He certainly did not expect to have to have this conversation with either of his handmaidens, of all people. “You and Ten know why we are here, why you were able to travel with me. You two are to stay with me here until Prince Yuta dismisses you or I do, and I do not plan on dismissing you anytime soon. I am here to marry a man I have never met. I am…skeptical.”

“But are you _displeased_?” Jungwoo emphasizes. “Do you wish to return to the Forest?”

“Jungwoo,” Sicheng says, choking back tears, “I have _never_ wished for anything more. The Forest is my home. This place is not, it never will be. I am most displeased to be here, Jungwoo.”

Jungwoo gasps, finally forgoing drying Sicheng’s legs and standing at his full height, just a few inches taller than Sicheng. “My prince,” he breathes out.

“Please keep this conversation between the two of us,” Sicheng whispers back, “ _that_ would be most pleasing to me.”

“My prince—“ Jungwoo starts to say, but Sicheng is already making his way out of the washroom. Ten has Sicheng’s outfit prepared, displayed hanging on a rack constructed of woven vines and a material Sicheng does not recognize. Ten is laying out products on the vanity in front of him, counting under his breath as he arranges them in order of when they are used in the process of getting Sicheng ready. 

Sicheng stands before Ten with a glamorous smile on his face, acting as if nothing happened in the washroom after he left. “I am ready for you,” he announces, exaggerating.

Ten rolls his eyes while Sicheng allows himself to be shepherded into the seat in front of the vanity. Sicheng looks back at himself in the mirror, at the slightly sunken circle underneath his eyes and the blotchy redness blooming in patches across his face in no particularly significant places.

“Fatigue,” Ten proclaims when Sicheng asks about the condition of his face. “You have gone through a lot of stress within the past month, my prince. Your skin reflects the condition of your soul. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Then Ten gets to work, dipping his fingers in a gel-like substance sitting in a glass jar to the very far left of the line he has set up. Dotting Sicheng’s face with the product, Ten wipes the excess off with a cloth before gently massaging the gel into Sicheng’s face. When he pulls away and Sicheng gets a good look at himself in the mirror, the majority of the splotchiness in his face has gone away, his natural pale skin shining evenly under the light.

Jungwoo watches silently behind the pair with rapt attention as Ten repeats this process over and over again with different creams and gels, each doing their part to eliminate the imperfections in Sicheng’s skin. The end result is nothing less than perfection, and when Sicheng brings his hands up to gently trail his fingers across the skin of his cheeks, he is pleased at how soft and dewy they are, feeling natural and not caked by product.

Afterwards, Ten steps away, and Jungwoo approaches tentatively, still clearly reeling from their light spat in the washroom. Sicheng looks at Jungwoo with gentle eyes and tries his best to convey his desire to forget it ever happened, and the small smile Jungwoo gives him in return lets him know that he has succeeded. Ten bustles throughout the room quietly, making up Sicheng’s bed before spraying it with a light mist. The smell travels across the room to Sicheng’s nose, and he smells rosemary. He sighs happily, sinking into the cushion of his chair and thinking of the Southern Forest in spring.

Jungwoo dips one finger lightly into a small jar packed with glitter, glimmering silver against the tip of his finger. On instinct, Sicheng closes his eyes, and Jungwoo dabs his finger ever so lightly across both of Sicheng’s eyelids, packing the glitter onto the skin but not overdoing it with the product, giving Sicheng’s eyelids a slightly unnatural shine without making him look like some sort of mystical creature. Jungwoo then fills in Sicheng’s eyebrows, already dark and full on their own, giving them a more unified shape and a more prominent arch, making Sicheng look all the more dignified and princely. Somewhere along the line, Ten reappears by the vanity, lounging silently on a futon in the corner of the room next to them.

After dusting the high points of Sicheng’s cheeks with a near translucent material that gives a more dewy affect and coloring his lips a more prominent shade of pink, Jungwoo steps back, satisfied. Taking one last look in the mirror, Sicheng smiles at the image of himself staring back at him, one of regal disposition and mighty influence. The image of a man ready to conquer kingdoms rather than warm the bed of a prince.

“Alright, onto the best part,” Ten quips, gesturing to the rack of clothes awaiting Sicheng. Jungwoo averts his eyes respectfully as Sicheng drops his robes, standing bare in the bedroom, while Ten does no such thing, picking up pieces and helping Sicheng into them, down to his first layer of underclothes.

“I can do this part myself, you know,” Sicheng grumbles as he steps into his underclothes, the soft cotton feeling nice on his freshly bathed skin.

Ten smirks. “Yes, but then it would save you from humiliation that I so desperately love to see on your face. We must keep this part of our daily routine intact, it soothes me.” Even Sicheng cannot hold back his smile once Jungwoo squawks out a high pitched, musical laugh.

Sicheng’s outfit is a royal blue suede material, rougher in comparison to the silks Sicheng expected to have to wear in the Islands, with shimmering silver accents that match the color of Sicheng’s eyelids perfectly. His robes fit his frame perfectly, no stray cloth falling awkwardly around him, and once his entire outfit is on his body, he looks like a vision, a force to be reckoned with.

Lastly, Ten styles Sicheng’s hair, applying a small dollop of gel to his fingers before running them through Sicheng’s hair, the end result having Sicheng’s hair fall around his face, looking natural, but not moving when Sicheng turns his head back and forth, maintaining its shape without fail.

“You will be summoned soon,” Jungwoo says quietly, and like clockwork, there is a knock at the door.

Ten rushes to answer it, opening the door wide enough for the person on the other side to take in Sicheng in his readied state, indicating that they will not have to wait much longer to depart. Jungwoo sneakily slides Sicheng’s shoes towards him, allowing for Sicheng to step inside them with no difficulty.

Seo Youngho stands at the door, smiling pleasantly, like one would when greeting a stranger. “Good morning, Prince Sicheng. I hope you slept well last night.”

Sicheng ignores the side eye Jungwoo sends his way, crafting his own polite smile in response.

“Of course I did,” he answers politely, “the King and Queen were wonderful to have provided me with such exemplary accommodations for my first week. I slept wonderfully, as did my envoy.” Jungwoo nods obediently beside him, and Ten looks Seo Youngho up and down before nodding as well. Sicheng hopes Ten does not have any allusions as to how Seo Youngho will react to such looks, besides branding a member of Sicheng’s envoy inappropriate and having him shipped right back to the Southern Forest, _without_ Sicheng.

“That is excellent to hear,” Seo Youngho replies cheerfully. “I will cut the introductions short. I am here to escort you to your celebratory breakfast! It is starting shortly, and your prompt appearance is required.”

Sicheng smiles to block the wince that automatically comes to his face. “Well, it is a good thing I have just finished getting ready.”

“Good, indeed,” Seo Youngho says amicably, stepping out of the doorframe as Sicheng and Jungwoo cross to the other side of the room, where Ten awaits, unable to leave the room unless he is following Sicheng. 

They follow Seo Youngho down a long hallway decorated with large, hanging tapestries covered in patterns that seem to shift in the sun and looming portraits of Kings and Queens of old. Sicheng spots a few faeries in the family portraits, and he hopes he’s able to keep his noise of surprise low enough that Seo Youngho doesn't hear it. By the look on his face, he knows he is unsuccessful.

Eventually, after too many twists and turns for Sicheng to keep track of, they reach a set of doors, taller than three men stacked on top of each other, engraved with golden accents that shine in the morning sun coming in through the window across from it. Beside him, Sicheng can hear Jungwoo’s gasp of awe, and even Ten cannot hide his impression.

“Breakfast is being held just on the other side of these doors,” Seo Youngho informs Sicheng lowly. “Are you ready?”

Sicheng inhales deeply, knowing that he isn’t, but also knowing that he has no choice. One way or another, he will meet the royal family of the Islands, and it would be improper of him to leave it for his wedding day.

“Yes,” he says, far more boldly than he actually feels, “I am ready.”

Seo Youngho only nods once, reaching out and pulling open one of the doors, and Sicheng can see the strain on his face from doing so. He steps aside, allowing Sicheng to enter first, Ten and Jungwoo permitted to follow close behind him, and Youngho taking the last place. He quietly shuts the door behind them as they all step inside, the other three far too enthralled with their surroundings to pay any sort of attention.

The banquet hall is, by far, the largest room Sicheng has ever stepped foot in. The castle in the Forest was much more subtle than this one, Sicheng has come to find, a lot more quaint and with far less grandeur. It seems that those that inhabit Guenhang do not share these desires for their own castle.

“It is just marvelous,” Jungwoo says, followed quickly by a squeak. “Oh! I am sorry if that is improper!”

“Of course it is, you sniveling babe,” Ten sneers beside him, “but does our prince seem like the type to do anything about it? Shut up and enjoy the scenery, we will no longer be invited back to these sorts of events after the wedding.”

Sicheng turns his head towards his envoy at this. “Is that true?” he asks incredulously. “Am I really to bring you nowhere after I become a husband?”

Ten grimaces, which is all the confirmation Sicheng needs. “A pity,” he says quietly. “Your chatter is what kept me entertained for much of the journey here. I will be sad to lose it.”

“Come now,” Youngho interrupts politely, pretending he did not know a conversation was taking place. “I shall introduce you to my husband.”

“Ooh!” Jungwoo gasps again, unable to control himself. “Is it truly the decadent Lee Taeyong that is your husband? I have heard so many wonderful things about him, he is royalty personified, and so _beautiful_ if the portraits are anything close to accurate—!”

Ten elbows Jungwoo in the side, smiling widely at his grunt of pain followed by a rather obvious pink flush that settles over his cheeks. “Please ignore him,” Ten comments casually, “he is not house-trained, though I labor everyday.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes as Youngho offers a small, polite smile.

“Yes, it is true that I married Lee Taeyong, though he has since taken my name and will only allow himself to be referred as such,” Youngho smirks then, “and he is every bit as beautiful as the portraits portray.”

Jungwoo simpers, eyelashes fluttering at the speed of light as he fans himself. Next to him, Ten appears bored and rather jilted, and Sicheng is reminded of the desire Ten harbored for Youngho at the dock. He wonders if Ten still harbors these feelings, or if he smart enough to refuse to acknowledge them until they no longer exist. Sicheng may have no choice in how his life is being ruined, but Ten most certainly does, and falling into bed with a married man, and a _lord_ at that, will not help any matters whatsoever.

Nevertheless, the three faeries follow Youngho further into the banquet hall, where they blend seamlessly into the crowd. Sicheng watches as Youngho greets certain people as they pass by, and Sicheng himself receives a few second glances, but other than that, they move swiftly through the sizable collection of people, ending their walk at the refreshments table, where a man is standing, nimble hand wrapped around a chalice and sharp eyes trailing over Youngho and his faerie cohort. Youngho reaches the other man and bends over to land a polite kiss on the corner of his mouth, perfectly suitable for a public display.

Seo Taeyong _is_ beautiful, unlike any creature Sicheng has ever seen. His skin is pale, glowing under the morning light that shines through the wall of windows, and his hair is colored a light pink, styled off his forehead in waves that move every which way on top of his head. He is wearing off-white robes with black velvet pants, looking every bit like the famous faerie prince the Southern Forest knows him to be.

Formerly known as Lee Taeyong, Youngho’s husband is the oldest son of King Lee of the Eastern Ports. Despite being the oldest, Taeyong was born a breeder, and therefore ineligible for the throne, a topic of gossip amongst the kingdoms for years following the announcement of his presentation. Male breeders, while not uncommon in faerie bloodlines, rarely present so early in a royal’s predecessors. Sicheng’s presentation was nothing to write home about, as third sons often _do_ present as breeders, but for Taeyong, the supposed heir of an entire kingdom, to present as a breeder was unheard of, and yet here he is.

No longer destined to sit on the throne of the Ports, Taeyong’s name was very quickly thrown into the mix of negotiations for alliances between kingdoms. He was a contender for a young prince from a faraway kingdom by the name of Minhyung, who later ended up marrying a golden-skinned faerie from the western tropical lands. There was one common theme amongst all of his potential husbands: they were all fellow faeries.

The Ports, not unlike the Forest, do not easily accept marriage between a breeder faerie and a human. Growing up, Sicheng read a lot of lore condemning the practice, the literature indicating that breeder faeries were specially created for the birth of more powerful faeries, and choosing to mix breeder blood with humans was a recipe for disaster. As a child, Sicheng never read much into it, considering it folklore meant to scare off breeder faeries from having relationships with other species—freedoms are seldom to those born as breeders, both female and male.

However, when Lord Seo of the Islands, the most influential politician aside from King Kim himself, offered his eldest son to negotiations, King Lee found himself presented with an offer only an idiot would refuse. As husband to a future lord and first pick as Hand of the King, Youngho would offer Taeyong stability, money, and most of all, power. And so a marriage of convenience was written, Taeyong’s input disregarded, of course, and Youngho and Taeyong were married within the month.

Two years into their marriage and they remain without an heir, though it is less important for a lord to reproduce than a prince, and, through this arrangement, Taeyong is no longer a prince.

“My love,” Youngho says lowly, and the underlying affection sends a warmth through Sicheng, a warmth he know he’ll never feel himself. “I would like to introduce the prince’s betrothed.”

The prince’s betrothed. Not Prince Sicheng, nor Prince of the Southern Forest. No, the prince’s betrothed. Sicheng will forever be known as an extension of another man, never as a man himself.

“Of course,” Taeyong replies, his voice a gentle murmur, caressing any listener’s ears. “I would be most honored.”

Youngho smiles at his husband, then turns to directly face Sicheng. “Prince Sicheng, I kindly introduce my husband, Seo Taeyong of the Islands.”

Seo Taeyong of the Islands. It appears Taeyong’s former identity has been stripped from him, his new one encased entirely in his husband’s name and location. Sicheng wonders if that is how he will be introduced as well once the wedding is over.

Sicheng tips forward into a noble bow, Taeyong doing the same. “It is a pleasure,” Sicheng says cordially.

“Quite,” is Taeyong’s reply. Sicheng’s eyes flicker up in surprise, and he sees the mirth on Taeyong’s face. “I might advise that you do not look so stiff once you meet the Prince. It is a wonder that your lips do not just _stay_ pinched up in that way.”

Sicheng blinks, feeling the tips of his ears turn red. Taeyong smothers a smile with a cool smirk, while Ten openly snickers behind him.

“I have fallen in love,” Ten mutters dreamily. “Jungwoo, do fetch me a refresher before I pass out from the heat of this attraction.”

“I am not _your_ handmaid, am I?” Jungwoo replies derisively, and Sicheng hears a loud smack behind him, followed by a resounding whimper from Jungwoo. 

“Do forgive my husband,” Youngho says breezily, his eyes telling Sicheng that he is used to backtracking his husband’s words. “He often forgets that in the presence of nobility he should do well to hold his tongue.”

Taeyong tuts, a near silent click of the tongue. “Well, should my husband remember to remind me of my place, I shall inform him that I once held a title far superior to one he ever will.”

Sicheng, nervous that he has just walked himself into a lover’s quarrel, begins to look for a path out. Youngho’s laugh, however, draws his attention back to the couple. Taeyong looks pleased as punch as Youngho grins, completely devoid of annoyance or agitation, despite the obvious disrespect of Taeyong’s comments.

“I will ask you again to forgive me husband, Prince Sicheng,” Youngho says once he’s recovered. “He has quite the sharpened tongue, and is always ready to strike. Lest we forget he _used_ to be a Prince himself.”

“Touché,” Taeyong comments snidely, but he says nothing else on the matter, eyes lingering on Sicheng’s frame. “Yes, the Prince will like you just fine.”

Affronted, Sicheng forces himself not to cross his arms. “Whatever do you mean?” he asks, keeping the incredulity out of his tone as best as he can.

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “Only that you are a pretty thing. From what I know of the Prince, you will suit his tastes rather perfectly.”

Sicheng’s stomach rolls. Obviously, the obligations of a royal have not left him during the journey to the Islands. Royals, no matter their status and no matter where they are, are always required to produce an heir at the least, multiple if possible, unless they would like to find themselves in the situation the Kims are in, without a pure royal-blooded heir and with a bastard gearing up to sit on the throne instead. As the Prince’s future husband, Sicheng’s job, first and foremost, is to be bedded by the Prince. As consort, however, his second most important job is to keep the Prince satisfied enough that he does not stray and produce more bastards than he knows what to do with.

The Southern Forest has no fine print in terms of the treatment of royal bastards once they are discovered. Though none have ever arrived to claim their parentage, Sicheng knows that is is not outside the realm of possibility for his father to have sired a few bastards along the way, especially after Sicheng’s mother died and his father’s subsequent refusal to remarry. In the Islands, however, common practice is to formally acknowledge any bastards that should result in a relationship outside of the marriage. That is, any of the King’s bastards, of course. Should the Queen be discovered to have carried a bastard, she would be beheaded, her bastard cast out and shunned from society.

Sicheng’s third role in the Islands is to nurture and raise his children with the Prince, picking the best tutors to mold them into perfect royals for the Islands to admire. His fourth is to do the same for any of the Prince’s bastards.

“You—“ Sicheng kicks himself for faltering, especially when Taeyong’s expression turns mean. “You mean to tell me that I am the Prince’s ideal…face? Body?”

“And everything in between,” an unfamiliar voice says from Sicheng’s right, startling him out of the film of fury that had placed itself over his expression and thoughts.

And there he stands, Prince Yuta. Sicheng has seen pictures, drawings hastily done after it was announced that he was to take his half-brother’s place on the throne. He looks like a pirate, dressed in deep red colors that contrast his pale skin and stunning green eyes. His black hair falls in wave around his face, tucked conspicuously behind one of his ears. His hands are clasped behind his back and there seems to be a smirk permanently etched into his face.

“Your Highness,” Sicheng breathes out, bowing low and letting his head hang, not daring to look his fiancé in the eye as he greets him. No matter how displeased he is with his situation, Sicheng knows better than to make a bad impression.

“Prince Sicheng,” the Prince drawls out as Sicheng straightens out from his bow. He’s taken a few steps closer, hands no longer clasped behind him. “What an honor it is to finally see your gorgeous face in person. No portrait has ever done your beauty justice.”

Sicheng thinks he hears Jungwoo sigh behind him, but he pays him no mind. Prince Yuta reaches a hand out, a silent command, and Sicheng slips his hand into his, watching as Yuta brings it to his mouth, kissing it firmly, his lips leaving tingling after effects on the skin of Sicheng’s knuckles.

“You think me _that_ beautiful?” Sicheng asks, shocked, before he realizes how it sounds. “Oh! Do not confuse me as the type to seek out your compliments! I would never behave so desperately.”

Prince Yuta smirks again. “No,” he says, “I should think you would not.”

“I would not,” Sicheng reaffirms clearly. There’s an obvious flush on his face now, and the fact that Prince Yuta can see it only serves to make things worse.

“In any case,” Prince Yuta continues, undeterred, “yes, you _are_ that beautiful. I find myself… _itching_ for the week to finish quickly. Would our wedding night not be most satisfactory?”

Sicheng balks at the question, and he can tell that Prince Yuta has made their small audience rather uncomfortable as well. Clearly, he is still being trained in royal etiquette, to commonly refer to their consummation before it happens so openly and casually. The nonchalance in the Prince’s tone bothers Sicheng, and the lack of propriety makes hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

“Shall I introduce my envoy?” Sicheng asks instead, an obvious misdirect that does not miss the Prince. Sicheng is relieved that he chooses not to say anything about the very obvious subject change.

“Of course,” Prince Yuta responds amicably. “These are your trusted aides, yes? Your companions through your long trip here?”

Sicheng nods. “Yes, Your Highness. These are Jungwoo and Ten, my travel companions and maidens, as well as my very good friends.”

Jungwoo and Ten present themselves, as though they are steak on a platter to be served, and Prince Yuta eyes them both thoroughly, gaze obviously running up and down both of their figures, pausing briefly at their waist and hips.

“You are also breeders?” he asks brazenly, and this time Sicheng knows he hears Jungwoo’s gasp.

Between faeries, spotting a male breeder is as easy as spotting a rabbit from a squirrel. They tend to have a much different disposition and a softer, more perfume-like smell about them. To humans, the distinction is not there. Humans often struggle with identifying a faerie from a human in the first place, let alone a male breeder. For Prince Yuta to so openly ask about Jungwoo and Ten’s statuses is completely against protocol. Breeder faeries, if their identity has not already been disclosed, are required by the rules of faerie etiquette to reveal themselves at some point in the interaction, but it is solely their job to do so. The human should _never_ inquire after the status of two faeries with whom he’s never held a conversation with.

“Um,” Ten starts unintelligently. “We— _yes_ —Jungwoo and I are both breeders, Your Highness.”

Prince Yuta hums, though whether he is pleased or not is something Sicheng is not sure of. He hopes, at the very least, that the Prince is not attracted to either of his envoy. Should he desire them in his bed, there is little either could say to refuse him.

“And you are both unwed, yes?” Prince Yuta then asks, and Sicheng swallows his bile back.

“Y-yes, Your Highness,” Jungwoo squeaks. “But—“

Ten steps on Jungwoo’s shoe, effectively cutting him off. Sicheng winces when Prince Yuta’s eyebrow arches, and prepares himself for what is coming next.

“But?” Prince Yuta prompts impatiently.

“But they have taken a vow, Your Highness,” Sicheng chooses to explain for them. “As my envoy, they have both taken a pledge of chastity. They are to never… _breed_ with anyone. It is the way of our kind.”

Prince Yuta blinks, and then his face seems to transform. Gone is his cold stare and unkind smirk, replaced by eyes filled with warmth and a smile, though it is rather antagonistic.

“My apologies!” Prince Yuta says. “I hope I did not offend. I am too curious for my own good, as my mother would say.”

“Would she?” another unfamiliar voice, this time a woman’s, sounds from behind the Prince.

The Prince turns around, and Sicheng looks around him, immediately dropping into his lowest bow, his head nearly touching his thighs. “Your Graces,” Sicheng greets, loud enough for them to hear him despite his angle.

“Father,” Prince Yuta says rather casually. “My Queen.”

“ _Mother_ would suffice, as you well know,” Queen Kim responds rather haughtily. Sicheng finds himself wanting to launch into another bow, as if that would do anything to appease her. He looks to the side to find Youngho and Taeyong, thinking they might perhaps diffuse the situation, but they have disappeared, leaving Sicheng to deal with the King and Queen alone.

“Yes, yes,” Prince Yuta dismisses with a wave of his hand. Sicheng does well not to ignore the glare in the Queen’s eyes.

Sicheng places himself to Prince Yuta’s lefthand side, stating slightly behind him, as he was taught to do early on his etiquette classes, so as to not present himself as an equal to someone of higher rank than he. The Queen noticeably preens at the action, and Sicheng breathes a near silent sigh of relief.

“My, my,” the Queen exclaims. “What a pretty thing you are! Great height, great shape, and a wonderfully fresh face to look upon. My son will surely be satisfied with you, will he not?”

Sicheng swallows. “Yes, Your Grace, I hope so. It is so very lovely to meet you.”

The King sticks out his hand, much like Prince Yuta did, and Sicheng follows his lead, placing his hand in the King’s and watching once more as he lifts it to his mouth to kiss it. 

“What an honor to meet you, Prince Sicheng of the Southern Forest, though not for much longer, eh?” the King says rather slyly, his eyebrow quirking.

“Likewise, Your Grace,” Sicheng responds mildly. “Your kingdom, it is so very wonderful. I have loved every second I have spent thus far inside these castle’s walls, and I have hardly explored.”

“We thank you kindly,” the King says. “You are the picture of the Southern Forest’s known hospitality. It is truly a wonder to see it in action. You were obviously trained well.”

Sicheng bows his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “My father would rather have me strung up than insolent, Your Grace.”

“As a father should!” King Kim’s voice booms. “Sons should be complacent to their father’s wishes. There is no need for an opinion, not as long as they are alive. Is that not right, Yuta?”

Prince Yuta squares his shoulders, blocking Sicheng a little more from his father and stepmother’s— _mother’s_ —view. 

“Originality is such a hopeful quality in a child, is it not?” Prince Yuta says instead of immediately acknowledging the truth in his father’s words. “Should we allow ourselves to be complacent in our children’s lack of voice? How do we expect a child to rule a kingdom if they cannot share or express any original thoughts? My children will certainly be raised with a voice of their own.”

Sicheng preens at Prince Yuta’s words, despite himself. He would rather eat toad than bear the Prince’s children, if their interaction thus far is anything to go by, but it remains his duty nonetheless, and the thought of the Prince allowing their children freedoms other royal children would otherwise be stripped of is a small comfort for Sicheng, whether it comes true or not.

“They most certainly would _not_ ,” the Queen says viciously. “Not under my watch, anyway.” Her gaze turns towards Sicheng, who bows his head on instinct. “Prince Sicheng, you would not allow such foolishness in your children, would you?”

“No,” Sicheng’s response is immediate, “most certainly, I would not, Your Grace.”

The Queen smirks. “Good boy.”

Sicheng can’t help but feel degraded by the Queen’s comment. It’s not as though he could not have expected better treatment coming from her. After all, had things gone differently, he would be standing in this very same banquet hall behind her _real_ son, marrying him in a week as opposed to her husband’s bastard who gets to take her son’s place after his untimely death. Surely, Sicheng expects animosity between them, but he feels that her comments are much less outwardly heinous and much more subtle in how they break Sicheng down. He already feels wary of the Queen, which is not a good sign for an impending marriage.

“Well,” Prince Yuta says abruptly. “If that is all, I should take my fiancé around the room and get him acquainted with our guests.”

The King nods. “Of course, my son. Again, it is a tremendous pleasure to meet you, Prince Sicheng.”

“Same to you, Your Grace,” Sicheng bows once again, turning it towards the Queen. “And it was indeed a pleasure to be graced with your presence for the first time, Your Grace,” he directs towards the Queen, who smiles tightly.

“I am most pleased to have made your acquaintance, Prince Sicheng,” she says in return.

Sicheng spends the rest of the morning hanging off of Prince Yuta’s arm, silent and mindless as he hardly listens to a word said between the Prince and his…acquaintances? Friends? Co-workers? Sicheng knows none of its only the thoughtless droll that is a consort’s job. To be seen and not heard.

***

Preparations leading up to the wedding are fast-paced and brutal for Sicheng to endure. Hardly getting a satisfying night’s sleep with the mattresses continuing to work their death magic on his spine, Sicheng spends the next six days swaying on his feet, praying for moments of solace to recollect himself in his exhaustion, though those moments never come.

“It is to be expected, my prince,” is Jungwoo’s helpful advice when Sicheng complains rather loudly during his morning bath. “Such is the job of the future consort. Does it not excite you?”

“Do not be ridiculous, Woo,” Ten sneers, lathering soap into Sicheng’s arm. “Has our beloved prince ever enjoyed such practices? Remember when his eldest brother was married? The absolute misery Prince Sicheng was in the entire time?”

Jungwoo pouts, scrubbing Sicheng’s other arm a little too roughly in his upset. “I would be absolutely delighted to participate in such activities,” he says drearily.

“Fantastic!” Sicheng exclaims. “You must take my place at once! I am sure we can scrap together the ingredients necessary to dye your hair black, and then it will be no problem convincing the public that you are indeed the faerie prince come to end the war! I will sneak onto a ship and disappear forever. Everyone is happy!”

“Except me,” Ten whines. “I will be stuck tending to Prince _Jungwoo_ , a fool’s errand. He is far too petulant to pull off such an act.”

Jungwoo squints. “And I do not wish to dye my hair,” his fair blonde hair sweeps in front of his eyes, blocking Sicheng from seeing his emotions. “It would not work anyway,” Jungwoo sighs. “I cannot pull off regality. I am not meant for it.”

“Finally, he recognizes it,” Ten gasps dramatically, dodging out of the way when Jungwoo swings the wet cloth in his hand at him. “What? Your optimism, much like the rest of your personality, was grating on my nerves.”

Pouting, Jungwoo throws the cloth down into the bath, ignoring Sicheng’s indignant shriek as water comes up to splash him. “Well, at least I am not mean-spirited. Honestly, a _hag_ behaves better than you, Ten.”

Ten purses his lips, regarding Jungwoo with new eyes. “When I have a comeback, you will be the first to know.”

“I long for the day,” Jungwoo fake simpers.

Sicheng spends countless hours with tailors, allowing them to measure every last inch of his body, keeping copious records so as to not dress him in anything less than wedding robes that fit absolutely perfect on his body. He offers his opinion on flowers and color coordination and tastes so many cakes that his stomach turns over, knowing, at the end of it all, that the Queen will sweep through after him and make the real decisions. His participation is entirely for show, as it should be. He has no choice in the matter of being married, why should he have a choice in how it is planned? 

On the morning of the wedding, Jungwoo wakes Sicheng up with a smile too bright for the circumstances. Jungwoo’s happy expression dims considerably when Sicheng merely scowls, but he doesn't let it deter him, unfortunately.

“I believe today is going to be a fantastic day!” Jungwoo chirps as he smears shiny gunk all over Sicheng’s skin, giving him a shine that will last long into the night. Sicheng shivers at the implications of what will happen once the moon rises in the sky and the guests retreat from the reception hall.

“I wish I could conquer,” Sicheng replies glumly.

Jungwoo sighs, grabbing an instrument with a brush on the end and applying some color to Sicheng’s eyelids. “I wish you were more optimistic. This is your _wedding_ , my prince. You should be rejoicing. You will never do this again in your lifetime.”

“I am sorry that my enthusiasm is not bleeding out of my pores, Jungwoo,” Sicheng drawls impatiently.

Jungwoo huffs. “Why are you not more excited? Why can you not just be happy about this?”

He pauses in his ministrations on Sicheng’s face, allowing him to speak freely without the possibility of messing up his makeup. Sicheng takes a pause to breathe in and out for a moment, not wanting to completely blow up in his aide’s face.

“I do not love Prince Yuta,” Sicheng says. “I do not even know him. I have not spoken to him since the breakfast that was _supposed_ to be in my honor, and yet I found that no guest wished to actually speak to me. I will be lonely in our marriage, that I know for certain. He will take mistresses and I will pretend it does not kill me that I cannot do the same. I will raise our children as well as any others that he claims to be his, and I will have no choice in the matter. My only title will be consort, I can never be King, and I will never be referred to as a prince again. I will lose all autonomy, so tell me Jungwoo, what about that makes you feel as though that might make me _happy_?”

Jungwoo squirms under Sicheng’s gaze, eyes shifting around the room. Sicheng thinks that, for once, Jungwoo may actually miss Ten’s nagging presence, as he is in another room overseeing the final touches on Sicheng’s wedding robes

“Well,” Jungwoo starts, voice soft and sweet as always, “at least you are able to marry, to lay with another man, to have children. I cannot do any of those things, even though I so desperately want to.”

Sicheng softens. “Yes,” he concedes gently, “but Jungwoo, you want someone who will love you entirely, who would be over the moon to marry you and give you children. Once upon a time, I wished for that too. But I will not get that with Prince Yuta. I never will.”

“How do you know for certain?” Jungwoo asks insistently.

“I just do,” Sicheng says firmly, closing his eyes briefly. “There are some men that you just…you know that they are no good for you. There are some men that do not commit, that think of marriage like a disease, festering in the body and killing oneself from the inside out. I know, because I have lived and I have learned, that Prince Yuta is one of these men.”

Jungwoo picks his instrument back up. “I do not know how you could possibly know that for certain.”

“A person in my position,” Sicheng murmurs, “must know these sorts of things. I marry Prince Yuta today, as is my duty, and I will lay with him tonight, and tomorrow, and however long it takes to make an heir, but I will not do it because I enjoy it, or because I want to. When he fucks me tonight,” Jungwoo flinches at Sicheng’s choice of words, “he will not be thinking of how much he loves me, or how glad he is that I am his husband. He will be thinking of how hot and tight I am, and when we are finished, he will count the hours until he can bury himself in me or something equally as hot and tight once again.”

“How crude,” Jungwoo huffs, dipping the brush in a small jar and tapping it against the rim, a small cloud of powder coming off the brush from the action. 

“It is true,” Sicheng says. “Men like that, like Prince Yuta and most of other men in this castle, think like that and no other way.”

“There must be some that do not,” Jungwoo murmurs, blinking rapidly.

Sicheng closes his eyes as Jungwoo directs him. “How do you think Prince Yuta came to be in the first place?”

Jungwoo finishes his makeup, spraying a fine layer of mist over his face as a finishing touch, just as Ten steps into his quarters, followed by two young women, all holding bundles upon bundles of fabric.

“It is as I hoped!” Ten cries, carefully laying out Sicheng’s wedding robes. “You will be wearing forest green!”

Sicheng is dressed quickly, his wedding robes a deep, dark green, velvet material once again, as is the staple of the Southern Forest, with charcoal black slacks that fit is legs tightly but have no chance of ripping when he moves too quickly or bends to sit. A cape is attached to his robes, hanging not too heavily off his shoulders, and therefore not weighing him down. It is white, and apparently the custom of the Islands dictates that, at the end of the ceremony, Prince Yuta will remove the white cape and replace it with a red one, to signify the strong bonds of love and blood. Ten has woven small rubies into Sicheng’s hair for the occasion.

“You look beautiful,” Jungwoo breathes once Sicheng’s ensemble is completed. “You will be the most stunning in the room by far.”

“I should hope so,” Ten says, “he _is_ the one getting married, after all. He is the center of attention!”

“All eyes will be on Prince Yuta today,” Sicheng comments mildly, “to ensure that he does not make one misstep.”

Jungwoo and Ten exchange a look. “Yes,” Ten says, “perhaps you are right.”

The ladies lead Sicheng down the long hallway, Ten and Jungwoo walking in the opposite direction, towards the entrance to the ceremonial hall. Sicheng thought, for the beautiful weather the Islands always have, that the ceremony would have been held outside, but to no avail, and Sicheng finds himself trapped inside on what appears to be the sunniest of days he has ever seen.

Sicheng is directed towards a small reception area, where he sits for a period of time that he does not bother to keep track of. Eventually, a woman who looks very official comes to fetch him and brings him to the grand entrance of the ceremonial hall.

The ceremony itself is quite droll, at least in comparison to marriage ceremonies in the Southern Forest. For faeries, marriage is a commitment of not only the heart, but the soul, and so there is a lot of ritual attached to that. Where there would be arches made of twisting vines and branches, built up from the ground and blooming around the betrothed couple, butterflies soaring out of the arch and creating a beautiful masterpiece, there is only a dais made of marble, cold and indifferent, with petals from dull looking flower lining the pathway to it. Where there is a song sung by the guests, a ballad of found love and blood bonds so strong it sings to the gods and goddesses, there is only a prayer recited by a priest that only believes in one god, a god Sicheng himself does not believe in.

Sicheng feels detached from the ceremony, as if he’s on the outside looking in at himself, watching as he gears up to marry a man that he knows next to nothing about save the fact that he is a bastard and a jester. When the priest calls for the prayer, Sicheng bows his head as everyone does, but the words of worship travel through one ear and slip out the other side, inconsequential to him. He wishes, now more than ever, to hear the song of the ocean’s goddess, so soft and melodic, so gentle to the ear. Instead, he hears an old man rasp about a coming of a new age, wherein the one true God shall bring prosperous peace to all. Sicheng thinks that it’s all ridiculous.

Finally, Prince Yuta is called to remove Sicheng’s pure, untouched cape and attach the cape representing God and glory, not love and blood like Sicheng had thought. In the Southern Forest, such a practice would mean love and blood, the strength of the bond between the betrothed. He feels dirty, standing with his spine straight as Prince Yuta steps behind him, removing the clasps on his white cape and handing it off to the priest, replacing it with the red one in the priest’s arms already, clasping it to Sicheng’s robes and stepping in front of him again.

The ceremony is almost over, and Sicheng is counting down the hours before he can lie down in bed and sleep the disappointment of this day away. His mind reminds him of the duties he must perform before that happens, and of the fact that the bed he sleeps in tonight and forevermore will not be the one he has been sleeping in for the past week, but rather one he will share, and he feels queasy.

“And now, Prince Yuta,” the priest bellows, raspy voice grating in Sicheng’s ear, “you may now seal your union with a kiss.”

Sicheng prepares for the worst as Prince Yuta leans in immediately, attaching their lips together in a long, uncomfortable kiss where neither of their lips move. Sicheng knows this isn't the best Prince Yuta can do, that the kiss is all for show, for the sake of propriety and not to scandalize any of their guests. 

The reception is held in yet another hall, and Prince Yuta leads Sicheng and their hoard of guests into the hall, opening the grand doors with a flourish that Sicheng has to force himself not to roll his eyes at. A small band plays an orchestral song in the corner, and couple are already pairing off to dance on the ballroom floor. Many guests send looks towards Prince Yuta and Sicheng, and it occurs to him that they may waiting expectantly for the two to dance.

“My prince,” Sicheng whispers, and Prince Yuta leans in subtly. “Might we take this opportunity to dance so as to erase the worries of the more traditional guests we have here with us tonight?”

Sicheng can practically feel Prince Yuta’s smirk, and when Sicheng pulls away, he finds just that on his husband’s face. “What a lovely thought,” the Prince purrs. “You will make an excellent pleaser yet. Shall we dance?”

Ignoring the rumbling of turmoil in his at the idea of being a ‘pleaser’, Sicheng takes the hand outstretched to him, letting the other guide him to the center of the dance floor, where a path is cleared by the guests, all eager to watch the newlywed couple share their first dance after getting married.

The dance is slow and stilted, and Sicheng is surprised to find that the Prince is somewhat awkward in his movements, though he isn't entirely sure why he _would_ be surprised, given that he was never properly trained in this sort of thing. Still, Sicheng counts the beats in his head, and when the song ends with a flourish, he allows Prince Yuta to dip him, keeping himself balanced with an immense deal of core strength should Prince Yuta lose his footing and drop him. Thankfully, the need never does arise.

Sicheng makes himself scarce for the rest of the night, trying not to get drunk on the strawberry wine offered at the refreshments table. He also tries not to show his annoyance when Taeyong joins him there, pouring himself a rather hefty glass of wine and taking a long sip, watching Sicheng from the corner of his eye while he does so.

“That was quite some display at the breakfast,” Taeyong says lightly, lips smacking against the sweetness of the wine.

Sicheng blinks. “I could not possibly know what you mean—“

“Please do save your blathering for someone who wishes to hear it, because I most certainly do not,” Taeyong interrupts. “Besides, I only wish to offer you some key points of advice for your…night of companionship, we shall call it.”

Blanching, Sicheng takes another swig of his wine, looking around for any visible way out of this conversation.

“I would first advise you not to leave before I finish,” Taeyong starts, swishing his wine around in his glass. “I will now inform you that, upon arrival to the Islands, the dastardly Prince Yuta attempted to bed me almost immediately.”

Sicheng chokes on his saliva and recovers quickly.

“I only say this because I know you do not have the necessary _expertise_ to carry out your duties tonight without hurting yourself,” Taeyong says, his voice calming to a much gentler tone, “but the bastard prince _does_. That is not to say that he has high expectations for tonight—he knows of your upbringing and what that entails—but he is not without any expectations at the same time. Your pretty face and beautiful body only serve to further his ideas of what tonight will look like, so listen carefully.”

Taeyong takes a step closer and Sicheng sets his chalice down, his full attention on the faerie before him.

“You are fully developed, you must know that, with out status as breeders, we are able to… _lubricate_ , as it were,” Taeyong speaks lowly, and Sicheng nods, barely perceptible, but there. “Good. Then you must also know that this will not be enough. You must ask the Prince to—forgive my crassness, consort—provide further preparation before he is to penetrate you. That is to say, he must stretch you to accommodate his girth, am I understood?”

“Y-yes,” Sicheng stutters, flushed bright red. At least he can blame it on the wine.

“Excellent. You must also know that, throughout the entire interaction, there will be people outside your room, listening at the door and waiting until it sounds like you have finished. You will be checked immediately, both to ensure that you were penetrated and that you were fertilized. He _must_ finish inside of you, as I am sure he also knows.”

Sicheng gasps. “They intrude in our bedroom? They would ask that of me, at my most vulnerable?”

Taeyong looks at Sicheng with something akin to pity. “Your body, as far as the King and Queen are concerned, belongs to them, not you, and certainly not your husband. They will barge in, right at the moment where you are most sated and sloppy, and ask that you keep your legs spread while they perform their standard inspections. As the husband of a lord’s son, it was not required of me to be fertilized on my wedding night, but Youngho has a very…traditional father, and he had some maidens intrude on our first night together, to both our surprise. It was humiliating, and I do not want you to be caught off guard when it happens. My reaction was not the best, let us just say that things have been strained between Youngho and Lord Seo ever since.”

“I see,” Sicheng mumbles.

“Do not fret,” Taeyong speaks up. “This night will be very difficult for you, but it will make every night afterwards quite easy to bear, I would know. Listen to what I tell you, do it, and everything should go as it is supposed to. Understand?”

“I do,” Sicheng confirms. “I cannot thank you enough, Taeyong. Your kindness is unfounded, but I greatly appreciate it.”

Taeyong waves him off. “It is the least I can do for the poor man married to the bastard who seeks to sit on our throne,” Taeyong sneers at that. “He is a brute of a man, and I would hate to see you destroyed in his hands because I did not give you information that would be crucial to your enjoyment of the evening.”

Sicheng thinks, after everything he’s heard, that he will most certainly _not_ enjoy the evening. Nevertheless, he bids Taeyong farewell as the other strolls off in search of his husband, and Sicheng picks his chalice back up, more motivated than ever to down its contents.

“Going heavy on the liquor, are we?” Prince Yuta murmurs in Sicheng’s ear, startling him.

“I have never had authentic strawberry wine before,” Sicheng comments breezily. “Strawberries are imported from the Islands to the Forest, but the wine tastes completely different, though I suppose a month of transport will do that to any good.”

Prince Yuta hums, disinterested, and Sicheng’s stomach flops when the Prince’s hand runs up Sicheng’s arm to his own hand, wrapping around the chalice and removing it from Sicheng’s grasp, placing it on the table behind him.

“Shall we be escorted to our shared bedchambers?” Prince Yuta asks, breath fanning hotly over Sicheng’s ear and sending shivers down his spine.

“Right now?” Sicheng asks, unable to hide how uneven his voice sounds. “Should we not stay for one more dance? I have yet to even greet your father and mother, oh, they must think me so rude—“

“I do not think my father would miss our presence very much,” Prince Yuta whispers. “He knows what we must do now, as does everyone here. They are waiting with baited breath for us to decide to retire to our bedchambers, and I am sure they will hold their breath with anticipation until we are finished.”

Sicheng gulps. “If my husband wishes to retire now, then I shall wish to retire as well.”

“Docile,” Prince Yuta remarks slyly, “I appreciate it.”

_You know nothing_ , Sicheng thinks, sneering. _You are boastful and haughty, but you know nothing. I am anything but docile._

“I wish to retire now, darling,” Prince Yuta croons, and Sicheng suppresses the shudder that rolls down his spine.

“Then retire we shall.”

***

Their bedchambers are huge. There are three spacious rooms connected to each other, a lounging area, a bedroom and a washroom, where Sicheng can see the largest bath he’s ever laid his eyes on in the corner of his eye.

He barely has a chance to take in the decor before Prince Yuta is sitting on the bed, legs spread, sordid gaze set on Sicheng and running up and down his body. Sicheng already feels naked under his husband’s stare, and the flush he’s been working on since he drank the strawberry wine flares up immensely. Part of Sicheng wishes he was drunk, but the sane part of him recognizes how much he would regret tonight if he couldn't remember a thing by the end of it.

“Come here,” Yuta murmurs lowly. 

Sicheng walks forward. Each step closer to the bed feels like another kiss of death.

Yuta pulls Sicheng in for a kiss, bending Sicheng at the waist to reach where Yuta is sat on the bed. He continues to pull him forward, and eventually Sicheng falls onto he bed, his knees landing around Yuta’s legs, straddling Yuta’s waist. Yuta’s mouth moves away from Sicheng’s mouth, traveling down his neck and landing at his pulse point, where he bites. Sicheng moans outwardly in surprise, dipping his head back and exposing more of his neck, accidentally giving Yuta a larger canvas as he pressing sucking bites into Sicheng’s skin.

He creates a necklace of bruises around Sicheng’s neck, the darkest spots at his pulse points, and Sicheng pants heavily, leaning further into Yuta’s body despite himself. Yuta’s fingers dance down Sicheng’s body, landing at the clasps at his cape and undoing them smoothly. The cape falls off of Sicheng’s frame, falling down to the floor, and Yuta’s fingers travel further downwards, resting at the ties in Sicheng’s robes.

“May I remove this?” Yuta whispers. Sicheng can do nothing but nod.

Sicheng’s robes drop to the floor, and his skin prickles in the cold air. Yuta moves Sicheng off his lap, lying him down on his back. Sicheng notices that this mattress is a lot softer than the mattress he was made to sleep on in the weeks leading up to his wedding.

Yuta looms over Sicheng, his frame seeming so much larger from this position. He undoes his own robes, letting them fall to the floor before removing his pants, letting those drop to the floor as well. Sicheng watches as Yuta’s cock bobs against his stomach, hard and leaking. Yuta crawls over Sicheng’s body, his fingers undoing the clasps on Sicheng’s pants and pulling those down as well. Sicheng flushes when he sees his own cock removed from the confines of his pants, fully hard.

Panic floods Sicheng when Yuta’s hand travels down Sicheng’s body, tugging at his cock once before moving further down, fingers rubbing slowly over Sicheng’s hole. Sicheng whimpers when Yuta collects some of the slick gathering at his entrance, removing his fingers and rubbing them together, watching Sicheng with sparkling eyes.

“A common trait for breeders, yes?” Yuta asks.

Sicheng nods weakly. “It,” he clears his throat, lodged with panic and fear, “it makes breeding that much easier, and I have heard it feels…better for both of us this way.”

“I am sure,” Yuta replies, sticking his coated fingers in his mouth, sucking them dry. “Sweet,” he comments.

Sicheng blushes. “T-thank you.”

“You are beautiful, Sicheng,” Yuta says boldly, his gaze hot on Sicheng. “Your body…it is perfect. I am most fortunate to have you as my husband.”

“Oh,” Sicheng moans when Yuta brings his finger back down to his hole, tracing around the rim slowly. “I-It is I that is fortunate, my Prince.”

Yuta smirks knowingly, reaching down to grab his own cock, stroking it slowly. Fear spike as he feels the tip trace around his entrance, wondering how he can follow Taeyong’s advice without it appearing as though he is not a virgin.

“I-I heard,” Sicheng swallows, his voice shaking, “that virgin breeders, despite the…lubrication…still feel immense pain when first penetrated.”

Yuta quirks an eyebrow. “I have found that is the case for all virgins.”

“S-so perhaps my husband could,” Sicheng gulps, “p-prepare me further?”

“And how might I do that?” Yuta asks teasingly.

Sicheng can tell that Yuta knows exactly what he is alluding to, and that he is withholding on purpose. Yuta wants to hear Sicheng say it, wants Sicheng to humiliate himself to the point of no return. Hatred floods through his veins, but he knows he will feel only pain if he doesn't tell Yuta explicitly what he wants. Yuta won’t give it to him otherwise.

“P-put your fingers inside,” Sicheng whimpers, eyes cloudy with unshed tears and cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You would like me to finger you?” Yuta asks, and if it were anyone else, Sicheng would think it was for clarification. He knows that Yuta is doing it to stretch out Sicheng’s embarrassment for as long as possible.

Sicheng sniffles, forcing himself not to cry. “Yes, my Prince.”

Yuta’s smirk is deadly, sending chills down Sicheng’s spine that leave him feeling like he is in bed with a dangerous predator.

“Then I shall abide by my husband’s wishes.”

The first finger sinks in, and Sicheng’s back arches off the bed, mattress dipping under the extra force from his head and bottom. Yuta wiggles the finger around teasingly, and Sicheng whimpers, feeling his walls flutter around the movement. The second finger comes much sooner than Sicheng anticipated, and the sting is severe, his hole burning at the sudden stretch it must make to accommodate Yuta’s digits. He twists his fingers in and out quickly, spreading them apart inside Sicheng and stretching him further. Sicheng feels a spike of arousal, and his cock fills out even more, leaking clear fluid at the tip.

“Does this please my husband?” Yuta asks in a whisper, a shadow falling over his eyes.

Sicheng nods. “Yes, my Prince.”

“Excellent.”

The third finger punches a desperate moan out of Sicheng. He throws his head back against the bed, skull digging into he soft material of the mattress. Yuta works his fingers quickly, sparing Sicheng no time to get used to the stretch, but it is perhaps for the best, as Sicheng adjusts rather quickly during the process. His fingers make a corkscrew motion inside Sicheng before he sets them fully inside his hole, curling them slowly, searching.

“W-what are you—“ Sicheng cuts himself off with a loud moan as Yuta’s fingertips brush against a spot inside him that sends currents through his body, shocking him out of his daze.

Yuta chuckles lowly, and hits that same spot again and again, each time drawing a more desperate sound from Sicheng. He feels a tidal wave building up inside of him, blood rushing in his ears. As his moans get higher and weaker, Yuta’s fingers jab harder at the spot, alternating between massaging it and nearly stabbing it with his fingertips. Just as Sicheng feels he is reaching his peak, Yuta removes his fingers, snarling at Sicheng’s pitiful wail.

“I think I have prepared you well, have I not?” Yuta asks menacingly.

Sicheng nods quickly. “Of course, my Prince. Thank you.”

Yuta hums, placing his body between Sicheng’s legs. Sicheng feels Yuta dip a couple fingers inside of his entrance to make a scooping motion, then hears the slick sound of the other pumping his own cock. He blushes at the thought of Yuta using his own slick as lubrication for his cock, but he sees no oils in sight that he might have used instead.

“How are you feeling?” Yuta asks suddenly, peering down at Sicheng with curious eyes.

“Oh,” Sicheng reacts, surprised. “I am alright. Thank you for asking, my Prince.”

Yuta nods, his face becoming concentrated once more. Sicheng feels the tip of Yuta’s cock breeching his hole, and he whimpers slightly in anticipation. Yuta looks down at him, perhaps to make sure he is ready, so Sicheng nods shakily, bracing himself. With that, Yuta slides inside of him with ease.

Sicheng moans loudly once Yuta is fully seated inside of him. His slick created a well-oiled passage for Yuta to slide through, and he had prepared him thoroughly, but the pain is still there, being his first time. Sicheng pants his breaths as he gets used to the feeling of Yuta’s cock inside of him, his hands coming up to grip at Yuta’s shoulders, nails digging weakly into the flesh there. Yuta groans when Sicheng momentarily clenches up, his body trying to expel Yuta’s cock from him.

“Moving now,” Yuta announces, teeth gritted. “Is that alright?”

“Oh, yes,” Sicheng replies sort of absentmindedly, still clenching and unclenching around Yuta’s cock. “I am ready.”

Yuta pulls out slowly, clearly taking his time for his own pleasure. Sicheng watches as his face changes, his features screwing up in pleasure whenever Sicheng’s hole clenches, and relaxing slightly when his hole relaxes as well. It’s fascinating to see the effects of his body mirrored on Yuta’s face, and part of him wants to spend the rest of the night teasing Yuta’s cock to watch it play out on his face. Yuta shoves himself back in, and the secondary breech hurts just as bad. Sicheng clenches up tightly at the intrusion and Yuta grunts in Sicheng’s ear, having leaned over his body. He tucks his face in Sicheng’s neck and Sicheng brings his arms to wind around his shoulders, feeling slightly useless spread out and doing absolutely nothing.

His husband thrusts in and out quickly after that, sharp movements that only require his hips due to the way he has positioned himself around Sicheng. Sicheng hooks a leg around Yuta’s waist, trying to mold their two bodies together as close as possible, hoping to lessen the pain. His hole is stinging badly, improving little from the initial burn of Yuta’s first thrust.

Yuta is panting in his ear, breath coming out rapidly with the occasional groan of pleasure. Sicheng, for his part, moans accordingly, pleasurable sounds that will hopefully lead Yuta to believe that he did nothing but enjoy this experience while it was happening. On a particular thrust curved upwards, Sicheng’s breath is punched out of him, and he whines from the aftershock of Yuta’s cock hitting the spot inside of him from earlier that made him writhe on the mattress in bliss.

“Is that it?” Yuta asks gruffly, and Sicheng makes a noise of confusion before Yuta thrusts in again in the same way as before, hitting that spot and causing Sicheng to wail, throwing his neck back and arching his body into Yuta’s. “Does that do it for you, my darling?”

Moaning in less exaggerated pleasure than before, Sicheng nods. “Y-yes, my Prince,” he struggles to say, tripping over his words in his haste to express his pleasure. “P-please do that again.”

“As my husband wishes,” is all Yuta says in response before punching his cock inside of Sicheng repeatedly, fast stabbing motions that leave Sicheng breathless and gasping, desperate for air.

The debauched noises of their love making fill the bedroom, the sharp bones of Yuta’s hips smacking against the flesh of Sicheng’s ass. Sicheng moans out loud wails, openly crying now, though the pain he is feeling is the last thing on his mind. Yuta moans lowly in Sicheng’s ear, sending shivers down his side that lead to his pulse, beating rapidly at different points in his body.

“Are you going to come?” Yuta asks.

“Yes!” Sicheng cries immediately, gaining the courage to buck his hips up to meet Yuta’s halfway, preening at the moan of pleased surprise from his husband in response. “Yes! Please, my Prince! Make me come!”

“I will,” Yuta promises.

Somehow, Yuta keeps up the pace of his thrusts while shifting his weight to one arm, the other coming down to rub sloppily at Sicheng’s cock, throbbing red and angry from the lack of attention its received. Sicheng cries out in surprise, thanking his husband profusely for the extra effort, and moves his hips more fluidly against Yuta’s, creating a better angle for Yuta to continue hitting his sensitive spots inside of him.

Pain and pleasure explode out of Sicheng at once, come spurting out of his cock as he screams out his moans of pleasure. He sags into the mattress below him, sated and sloppy as Yuta continues to thrust, not as harshly now that Sicheng has reached his peak. He can hear Yuta’s groans getting more frequent and louder, and assumed he is reaching his peak as well.

“M-make sure to c-come inside of me, my Prince,” Sicheng stutters, voice broken from duress.

Yuta hums distractedly, hips bucking wildly into Sicheng’s body, face screwed up in complete concentration. At once, his body freezes up, and he shoves himself fully inside of Sicheng, moaning loudly into his ear and causing him to wince at the noise. Sicheng feels warm liquid filling him up inside, and sighs in relief at the fact that Yuta finished inside of him.

Yuta’s body sags against Sicheng’s, but Sicheng knows he will not be able to rest there for long. Surely enough, a few moment later, a series of quick knocks sounds at the door, causing Yuta to lean up from where he was tucked against Sicheng, eyeing the door in confusion.

“Who do you suppose is here?” Yuta asks, running a hand through his sweaty, ruined hair.

“They have come to perform their examination on me,” Sicheng explains, surprised that Yuta was not aware that anyone would be there with them.

Yuta’s eyes flicker down at Sicheng in surprise. “Examination?”

“To ensure that we…fulfilled our duties tonight,” Sicheng replies awkwardly, and thankfully, Yuta reads how uncomfortable Sicheng is and says nothing further. 

A woman opens the bedroom door and steps inside, followed by another woman with flushed cheeks and an averted gaze, telling Sicheng that they were indeed waiting outside the door the entire time. Sicheng thinks of closing his legs, as he is still splayed out on the mattress, legs spread wide and body completely naked, but he knows what the women are here for, so he stays put, awaiting their word on what to do.

“Good evening, Your Highnesses,” the first woman says, tone prim and proper. She has clearly done this before. “We are here to perform our mandatory physical examination, if you do not mind.”

_Announced as if we have a choice in the matter_ , Sicheng thinks rather nastily, before shaking his head and clearing his thoughts.

“Of course, we do not mind at all,” Yuta answers for him, and Sicheng supposed he will have to get used to that.

“Wonderful,” the woman says before stepping up to the foot of the bed and looking down at Sicheng with raised eyebrows. “If you would, please, move your torso down to the foot of the bed, Your Highness?”

She constructs the statement as though it were a question, so Sicheng nods, scooting down the length of the bed before his bottom nearly hangs off of the edge, displaying himself more easily for the woman before him. Behind her, the second woman clears her throat, her flush working higher up her face to cover her temples as well as working lower towards her neck. Yuta watches the entire process curiously, but does not say a word.

The woman bends down to her knees to get eye level with Sicheng’s hole, and only then does Sicheng flush red with embarrassment. 

“This examination will be quick, as it is only to check two things, and then we will be gone,” the woman explains curtly. Sicheng opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by his own strangled grunt when the woman enters two fingers inside of Sicheng rather abruptly.

Having this nameless woman wiggle her fingers around inside of him causes Sicheng high amounts of stress, but he forces himself to keep his hips on the bed and not to clench around the intrusion. Luckily, he is not aroused by the process whatsoever, and so his cock continues to lie flaccid against his stomach. A brief look at Yuta tells him that he watching the interaction now with pinched eyebrows, and the woman standing towards the door seems to be counting the seconds until the examination is over. Sicheng can at least relate with one other person in the room.

The woman removes her fingers with little fuss, rubbing them together and humming at the sight of Yuta’s release covering the length of those fingers. Sicheng watches with horror as she wipes them off on a cloth she takes out of the pocket of her robes, before folding up the cloth carefully and pocketing it again, as if nothing had happened in the first place.

“That concludes the examination. We are sorry to have intruded on your privacy on this night, but it is protocol and entirely necessary. Fortunately, your examination had nothing but positive results, and that will be reported to the King promptly,” the woman says, and then she and her colleague are gone, shutting the door loudly behind them.

Yuta and Sicheng sit in brief silence, Sicheng resolutely staring up at the ceiling and refusing to look over at his husband, who had watched the entire process in absolute silence.

“That was…” Yuta trails off, seemingly still lost for words.

“Violating?” Sicheng suggests, his flush returning.

Yuta hums. “That is, indeed, one word for that."

Sicheng sighs in relief at Yuta’s dismissal of Sicheng’s obvious disregard for the Islands’ marriage night protocol. He finally closes his legs, his exhaustion seeping through him to the bone. He hears the sound of rustling behind him, and when he turns around to climb fully into bed, he finds Yuta underneath the blankets, head burrowed into the pillows. Sicheng follows suit, lying beside his husband, both of them naked, with no barrier separating them.

“Goodnight, Sicheng,” Yuta says tiredly.

Sicheng startles as he realizes that this is the first time Yuta has addressed him without a title. Generally, a consort may only address their husband by their name alone after their husband has done the same for them. It opens a door of communication between royal spouses. Sicheng hadn’t expected Yuta to open that door anytime soon, if at all, and he is pleasantly surprised by how pleased he is with the change.

“Rest well, Yuta,” he replies softly before he sinks into the mattress and pillows and falls into a deep, sated sleep.

***

Sicheng wakes the next morning in a cold bed.

Yuta is long gone, his side of the bed gentle made around Sicheng’s previously sleeping form, curled in a ball in the middle of the mattress in an attempt to get some warmth. Jungwoo stands over him, a kind smile on his face, while Ten stands behind him with something akin to a smirk on his.

_Oh, here we go_ , Sicheng thinks sardonically.

“Good morning, my prince,” Jungwoo speaks softly. “We are here to prepare you for breakfast. The King and Queen have requested your presence.”

Sicheng nods, trying to hold back a yawn that threatens to spill over. “What of my husband?” he asks, the words like ash in his mouth. “Is he to join us as well?”

Jungwoo hesitates. “I am afraid I do not know that, my prince.”

“He was called into a meeting with the Islands advisors very early this morning,” Ten says. “I hear it has something to do with our very own Southern Forest. Must have been on the subject of our sealed alliance. He will most likely appear at breakfast as well.”

“How do _you_ know that?” Jungwoo asks, turning his back to Sicheng.

Ten smirks. “I ask the right people the right questions."

Jungwoo huffs, whipping back around to face Sicheng and schooling his expression into one of soft kindness, as is Jungwoo’s signature. “Shall we run a bath for you, my prince?”

It’s then that Sicheng feels the crusted come splattered on his thighs, feels the uncomfortable clench of his rim as his body tries to close itself up, still with come leaking out of him steadily. He feels raw, open, and the embarrassment of last night’s events come flooding back to him. 

“Yes, most certainly,” Sicheng responds, and Ten is already off at the words, like they were a command.

“Of course,” Jungwoo says amicably.

Jungwoo and Ten bathe Sicheng, both smart enough to not comment on the state of Sicheng’s legs and hole as they wash him up. Sicheng, for his part, is humiliated, his body in a weakened state from the night before and feeling lonely on his behalf due to Yuta’s absence. Sicheng is not stupid, he knows that the likelihood of Yuta waiting around for Sicheng to wake the morning after he beds him is nothing more than wishful thinking, but it is wishful nonetheless. Sicheng does not want to love Yuta, and he certainly is not falling for him by any means, but the distance his husband places between them, especially after a night so intimate and vulnerable for Sicheng, leaves a bad taste in his mouth that he is not sure Jungwoo and Ten can wash out.

They pat him dry, rubbing delicious smelling oils and lotions into his skin afterwards, and Sicheng lets them move him around the room towards his vanity, stocked with brand new beauty products provided by the royal staff that Jungwoo has to improvise with to create a natural, dewy look for Sicheng, as he knows it custom for consorts on the morning after their weddings.

“You must look presentable, but not flashy,” Jungwoo says as if he is reciting a scroll, and perhaps he is. The Islands seem to have many conduct rules for their consorts. “It is no longer the expectation that you dress up to look as expensive and desirable as possible, in fact such practices will make you seem _un_ desirable.”

Ten scoffs. “So he is to never wear kohl around his eyes again? Never to have red-tinted lips? No more lace or sheer material?”

“It is not the way of the people here,” Jungwoo insists. “My prince, you must be understated in your beauty from now on. The people here know you are gorgeous—they saw you at your breakfast and your wedding. Now, they must see that you are a capable companion for their future King.”

_Capable companion_ , Sicheng sneers in his head. _As if naturally-tinted lips and subtly glittered cheeks will prove that I can fuck my husband well enough to keep him sated and happy to rule_.

“Ridiculous,” Ten mutters. “A faerie as reverent as Sicheng should not be forced to hide his beauty, he should enhance it as much as possible.”

Jungwoo shakes his head. “It is not about hiding,” he says lightly, though Sicheng can tell he is growing frustrated. “With natural beauty techniques, his beauty alone will captivate. There is no need to enhance anymore, his looks will speak for themselves.”

They all let the matter rest, and Sicheng finishes readying himself, stepping into the clothes Ten arranges for him, begrudgingly selecting fabrics that are without flashy tassels and accents. Sicheng wears dark colors still, which will stand out against the lightly colored fabrics that are popular in the Islands, but that is still to be expected of him. He is a Southern Forest faerie, he is not going to change overnight, and the royals know this.

Sicheng is led to a dining hall guarded by two men plated, silver armor. Each bow their heads to Sicheng, a consort’s formal greeting not requiring a full bend at the waist like it does for the King, Queen and Prince. He smiles politely and enters the dining hall, Jungwoo and Ten turning to walk in the opposite direction, leaving him alone.

The King and Queen are already seated, at either ends of the long table, each sitting in silence as they watch servants filter in and out of the room, each carrying dishes on platters larger than what Sicheng sees as necessary for such a small group dining together. 

“Ah!” the King exclaims, catching sight of Sicheng. “Our stunning son-in-law arrives! Dear consort, please take a seat! Welcome!”

Sicheng does not grin at the enthusiastic greeting, keeping himself in check as he bows, hands clasped tightly in front of him, where the King and Queen can see them. “Your Grace,” he speaks lowly, politely, “thank you for calling me to breakfast with you this morning. I could not be happier to spend my morning with you both.”

The King grins. “Of course, of course! Our son’s husband must be acclimated to our family meals. You will always be welcome to eat with us.”

Sicheng nods at that, letting a servant usher him into a seat closer to the Queen, an empty chair to his left. Sicheng wonders if that is meant to be Yuta’s seat, should he arrive.

“How are you this morning, Your Grace?” Sicheng asks the Queen directly, keeping a kind smile trained on his face.

The Queen hardly acknowledges Sicheng, sipping casually from her chalice before setting it on the table. “I am just fine. Sleep came easy to me last night,” she says. “And you, consort?”

Sicheng fights to keep the flush off his face as the King laughs boisterously, belly shaking from the force. “I am sure we can come to our conclusions without our son’s consort’s help, can we not, wife? He has passed the physical examinations, it is safe to say he had a marvelous first night of marriage.”

The Queen hums at that and Sicheng swallows down a load of bile threatening to travel up his throat. Before anyone else can say anything, the door swings open, and Yuta enters the dining hall, followed by a short man that Sicheng has never seen before. Both have their hands clasped behind their backs and are talking in low, short sentences. Despite the fact that they are having a conversation, they are not looking at each other, both of their eyes trained in front of them. 

Sicheng watches as Yuta’s eyes find his, and he _does_ flush at the subtle glint in Yuta’s expression as his gaze lands on Sicheng. The other man practically folds himself in half as he bows to the King and Queen, posture completely straight. Yuta forgoes bowing, instead walking over to Sicheng’s side of the table, plopping down into his chair with a sigh. 

“Lord Moon,” the King greets, still cheerfully. “How lovely of you to have joined us. I was not sure my invitation had met you in time. Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the man—Lord Moon—responds, taking his place opposite Yuta and Sicheng at the table. “Good morning, Your Grace,” he greets the Queen, who seems to have an indulgent smile permanently etched on her face.

“Good morning, Lord Moon,” she replies curtly, taking another swig from her chalice.

Their meal starts, and the room is quiet as everyone breaks their fast with no room for conversation. Sicheng eats relatively quickly, still slow enough to not be called out, but fast enough to allow him to be one of the first to leave. Lord Moon across from him seems to be doing the same, and every so often, Sicheng finds himself locking eyes with the man. The lord sends him a mirth-filled look every time they do, and Sicheng, startled, keeps his eyes trained on his plate for the remainder of the meal.

“How did your meeting go this morning, son?” the King eventually asks, breaking the horribly weighted silence.

Yuta swallows the last bit of food in his mouth before responding. “It went remarkably well. I believe the transitional period between you and I will not be so difficult after all.”

Sicheng isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks he hears the Queen scoff into the rim of her chalice. When he looks around for confirmation from anyone else at the table, the amused look on Lord Moon’s face affirms it for Sicheng. Surprised, Sicheng returns his eyes to his plate and says nothing.

The King, for his part, merely hums thoughtfully. “That is the goal. After the passing of our beloved son, the council thought we might have…troubles in the transitioning process.”

“No troubles,” Yuta comments casually. “I have established myself rather well with them. I saw no immediate issues that might need to be taken care of sooner rather than later.”

Sicheng swallows the last of his meal and looks around the table, wondering exactly what the protocol is for someone of his standing. Does he sit at the table and wait for his husband to finish? Is he permitted to leave? Must he have a chaperone? Sicheng wonders where Ten and Jungwoo are, and if summoning them would be am issue. He would rather be stuck in his large, looming bedchambers alone than at this table for longer than he has to.

Thankfully, Lord Moon finishes his meal as well. He looks over at Sicheng and winks, and before Sicheng has time to balk, he clears his throat. 

“Your Grace,” Lord Moon says, “might I be excused? I have several matters to attend to today, as you know.”

Sicheng’s eyes widen at the casual manner in which Lord Moon addresses the King. Should another lord, even one as important as Youngho’s father, speak to the King, Sicheng has no doubt that they would be expelled from court for their crassness. However, the King waves Lord Moon off with a casual hand, head already nodding.

“Of course, of course,” the King replies absently, digging into his food eagerly now that his conversation with Yuta has been interrupted. “Do inform me of how things go today.”

Lord Moon bows his head. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He stands from the table, and for a second Sicheng thinks he’ll be abandoned. “Oh,” the lord says, sounding startled. “Are you finished, consort?”

Sicheng blushes lightly as the King and Yuta both turn to stare at Sicheng, the Queen too preoccupied with her chalice to bother. “Yes, my lord,” he responds quietly.

The young lord smiles lightly, turning back to the King. “Does our lovely consort need an escort to leave the table? I would be much obliged to accompany him wherever he needs to be.”

“I have nowhere to be,” Sicheng rushes to say. “I will stay here if that is what is proper, Your Grace.”

The King gulps down his food. “Nonsense,” he says gruffly, “you may leave the table when you are finished, provided that you have an escort. Lord Moon has offered, so you are free to leave if you truly wish to.”

“Oh,” Sicheng says softly, “thank you, Your Grace.”

“You are a long way from home, consort,” the King says instead of offering a response. “It will take time to learn the new customs. Do not fret.”

Sicheng bows his head to the King, turning to do the same to Yuta and the Queen. He gets up from his seat carefully, avoiding it scraping against the ground, and walks over to where Lord Moon stands, arm extended for Sicheng to take. Walking with a lord, Sicheng must take his arm, looping theirs together lightly so they do not touch too much.

Lord Moon leads them out of the dining hall and turns the corner immediately, taking Sicheng down the familiar route back to his bedchambers, seemingly knowing where Sicheng wants to go without speaking with him.

“Thank you for escorting me, Lord Moon,” Sicheng says quietly so that they are not walking in complete silence.

“Do not thank me, you were as miserable as I,” the lord replies lightly. “And it is Taeil that I prefer you call me by.”

Sicheng blinks. “Your first name? Is that proper, my lord?”

“Certainly not,” Lord Moon quips, a smirk playing at his lips, “but you may call me by it regardless.”

“I see,” Sicheng says. “You…may call me Sicheng then, if you please.”

Taeil turns towards Sicheng, eyebrow raised. “Do _you_ please?”

“I have not been addressed as anything other than ‘my prince’ since I was born, and now that I am married, it is ‘consort’. I have never been called by my own name by anyone other than my mother, and she is no longer walks with us, so yes, I do please.”

“I am terribly sorry to hear that,” Taeil says, and his voice is gentle and sincere. “My mother has passed as well, I know just what you are feeling, Sicheng.”

Sicheng’s smile is watery, but he refuses to cry in front of Taeil, who he has just met. “It happened many years ago. It would be weak to not be over it.”

“We never truly move on from such loss,” Taeil muses thoughtfully, sending Sicheng a knowing look. “It stays with us for years. My mother has been gone not three months and I still hear her voice in my head when I am making decisions. Even something as simple as what to put on my plate for breakfast, she is there, offering a running commentary on my options, just as she did when I was a babe.”

Sicheng laughs. “Was she truly so intrusive?”

“At all times!” is Taeil’s cheerful reply. “She never met a situation she did not have an opinion on. I loved it dearly, though. I miss her.”

“Yes,” Sicheng whispers, “I would imagine you would.”

They arrive at the doors of Sicheng’s bedchambers. Taeil smiles ruefully at Sicheng as he unhooks his arm from Sicheng’s. Sicheng finds himself missing the warmth, and he knows that when Taeil leaves, he will miss his company, however brief it was.

“I hope to see you soon, Sicheng,” Taeil says, a smile still on his face, and Sicheng would be willing to call it hopeful.

“And you as well,” Sicheng replies.

Taeil walks away then, steps light on the cobblestone floor. Sicheng stares after him for perhaps a little too long, and is startled when the door swings open, Ten’s head poking out. His eyes are narrowed, and Sicheng knows he was standing at the door listening.

“Who was that?” Ten asks, leaning further out of the doorframe to watch Taeil’s retreating figure.

“He is a lord,” Sicheng answers casually. “He escorted me back from breakfast.”

Ten smiles evilly. “ _Did_ he?”

Sicheng scowls. “I am not entirely sure what you are suggesting but I will still remind you that it would do you well to remember that I am _married_. To the _Prince_.”

“Oh, my prince, that I know,” Ten says, the words light and airy, “though I find it interesting that your first instinct was to voice that fact aloud. Perhaps _you_ are who needs reminding, my prince.”

Ten yelps then, clutching the back of his head as Jungwoo appears behind him, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled into a frown. “You dare speak to our prince in this way?” he asks, incredulous. “We are in foreign territory, we must remain impeccable in our conduct! I have heard from the castle’s handmaidens that our actions reflect on Prince Sicheng as well, and if we do not conduct ourselves properly, he is the one who pays the price.”

“Oh, you heard it from the _castle’s handmaidens_ , did you?” Ten’s response is snarky. “Since when are you so attached to foreigners? Especially those of such low rank?”

Jungwoo rolls his eyes. “I have always had an appreciation for foreigners. They teach me new things, I quite like them.”

“They are still foreigners.”

“They are not the foreigners,” Sicheng says, pulling his envoy out of their little spat. “We are the ones from another land. They are the ones that welcome us and teach us their customs and rules. _We_ are the foreigners. Do well to remember that as well, Ten.”

Sicheng enters his bedchambers then, ignoring Ten and Jungwoo’s rising voices behind him.

***

Sicheng does see Taeil again, very soon after their very brief first encounter. He passes him in the halls of the castle, always with a glowing smile and a cordial “good morning, dear consort”. In the back of his mind, Sicheng hears Taeil calling him by his name, his soft and gentle voice moving like the waves of the sea in his mind.

“You are endangering yourself, my prince,” Ten snarks, not willing to hold back.

“I most certainly am not,” Sicheng scoffs.

Ten’s fingers stop moving through Sicheng’s hair, parting it to allow it to fall over his forehead casually. “I am only speaking to you so formally because it is my proper place. I have no title, I do not reserve the right to speak casually to you. But riddle me this, my prince. How can you stay faithful when Prince Yuta is not the man that is always on your mind?”

“I surely do not know what you mean,” Sicheng says, pointedly looking forward and refusing to meet Ten’s judgmental eyes.

Ten hums, but decides to say nothing else.

Yuta continues to bed Sicheng, arriving in their bedchambers just as Sicheng is ready to sink into the mattress and fall asleep. Without fail, Sicheng is taken every night, left to shiver in the oncoming cold once Yuta blows all of the candles out that Sicheng lights to keep himself warm and unafraid of being alone. Sicheng grows used to the feeling of being fucked, oftentimes allowing himself to be more of an active participant. Still, Sicheng remains without child, and he knows the King and Queen have begun to grow restless.

“And when do you think you will be with child?” the Queen asks, her voice leaning between condescending and cold.

Sicheng smiles as stiffly as possible without it looking absolutely fake. “I have heard these matters take time for some couples, Your Grace,” he says politely, bowing out of what would have certainly been a rather interesting row.

“Not for the next King and his husband, consort,” the Queen’s tone is saccharine sweet, but Sicheng knows the truth. She hates Sicheng, and his apparent inability to fulfill his only requirement as consort must irk her beyond contention.

“You must understand their frustrations,” Yuta sighs after Sicheng complains one too many times over the condescending lectures he receives so frequently from the Queen. “She worries herself over the succession of her line. It is your job to provide an heir and you are failing.”

Sicheng sits up in bed, ignoring Yuta’s hungry gaze as the sheets fall around his body, leaving his upper half bare. “ _I_ am failing? Certainly even you know that this matter takes two.”

Yuta raises an eyebrow. “Of course I know, consort. Do you think me a fool?”  


“You must be if you truly believe that I am the only one the Queen has contentious feelings for,” the words are out of his mouth before he can control them, and he nearly slaps a hand over his lips to prevent anything else from spilling out.

“Pardon me?” Yuta is sitting up as well, looking angry now.

Sicheng gulps. “I only mean that…well, you are not the Queen’s child.”

“I am the Prince,” Yuta says coldly, “and heir to the throne. By all means necessary, I _am_ her son. She acknowledges me as such. When my father passes, I will take his place, and it is not in her best interest to cast me aside.”

“I did not mean to offend, my prince,” Sicheng whispers softly. He can’t help but be afraid under the harsh glare of Yuta’s eyes. “Please do not think I meant you any disrespect. I only meant—“

“I know very well what you meant,” Yuta hisses. “Do not speak of this again.”

“Yes, my prince.”

And it is after this conversation that Yuta begins taking mistresses. Sicheng is not blind, nor is he an idiot. He is well aware of his husband’s extracurricular activities, especially after stories begin to spread throughout the castle. Yuta beds any woman he pleases, from the daughters of important lords to the servants that make their marriage bed every morning. Sicheng walks with his head held high as women pass him in the halls, always with bruises on their necks and flushed cheeks, always giggling behind their hands as they watch Sicheng pass without a word.

“How abhorrent,” Jungwoo sniffs as the three lunch together in the courtyard, the day sunny enough to garner the need for shade. Ten had found them a spot under a low-hanging palm tree, and he brings the other two to a nice setup of a small table and three chairs, like the ones Sicheng would find in the parlor at home while he was learning to stitch.

“Oh please,” Ten scoffs, “do not tell me you were foolish enough to think that the Prince would remain loyal to his _beloved_ husband. Not even the best of royals do such things.”

Jungwoo tenses, his grip on his glass of sweetened lemon juice tightening. “It is still not right,” he says defensively, though it’s weak.

“It is alright,” Sicheng says calmly. “I do not think such of it, neither should the two of you.”

“But, my prince,” Jungwoo says quickly, flush spreading on his cheeks, “what happens if one of his mistresses fall pregnant before you? You would be ousted from the Islands!”

Sicheng shakes his head. “They could never, even if they truly wanted to, oust me. The alliance forbids it.”

“Do you know that for sure?” Jungwoo asks. “Did they allow you to read the documents?”

“You were not even present when they were drawn up, my prince,” Ten murmurs quietly, for once cautious of their public setting and keeping his voice down to avoid a disturbance.

“Listen,” Sicheng snaps, catching Ten and Jungwoo’s attention, “I do not need to see the documents for myself to know of the clause that forbids the dissolution of our marriage. It has been written into every marriage contract ever proposed. My mother and father had the same clause, just as I am sure Seo Youngho and Lee Taeyong do. I am not a fool, and I know what is at stake. Do you not think I am _trying_? Do you think I am _neglecting_ my duties are consort?”

Jungwoo blushes. “No, my prince.”

“Then do not speak on hypotheticals, particularly those that involve my removal from my current position.”

The three sit in uncomfortable silence, every so often taking loud sips of their lemon juice to avoid having to speak. Sicheng takes small bites of his sandwich despite his lack of appetite. He was told earlier that dinner would not be held until much later, and the last thing he wants to do is end up starving at the feet of the Queen.

“Good afternoon, dear consort,” a gentle and familiar voice says behind Sicheng, “and good afternoon to the lovely gentlemen as well.”

Sicheng sees Jungwoo straighten in his seat, not entirely conscious of his actions, while Ten watches the scene play out with a raise eyebrow and a tiny frown. Sicheng turns around in his seat and sees Taeil, hands clasped behind his back with a small, playful smile on his face.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” Jungwoo replies, standing from his seat and bowing low, though such pleasantries are not required for lords. Jungwoo has always stuck by the rules of propriety a little too well in Sicheng’s opinion.

Nevertheless, Sicheng follows suit, standing from his chair and bowing his head. “Good afternoon, my lord,” he murmurs, and he hears Ten do the same behind him, albeit sounding rather reluctant.

“What brings you three beauties outside on such a hot and stifling day?” Taeil asks, beaming now.

Sicheng can do nothing but smile back. “We wished to be outside, my lord. The sun is at its highest, and I had not left the castle’s walls since I arrived here weeks ago.”

“I see,” Taeil responds. “These are the gentlemen that make up your envoy, yes?”

“Indeed,” Sicheng says, turning to the side and gesturing to his companions. “Ten and Jungwoo, my lord.”

Jungwoo bows again. “My lord,” he says, “it is so wonderful to meet you.”

“You as well,” Taeil replies with ease, eyes twinkling with something Sicheng cannot entirely define. “I wondered if the two of you would not mind my stealing your beloved prince away for some moments? I thought we would take a walk around the grounds.”

“Oh,” Sicheng startles at the offer, and he does not miss Ten clearing his throat behind him. “What a kind offer, you do not have to—“

“But you just said that this is your first time leaving the castle, yes?” Taeil interrupts casually. “It would please me very much to show you around these beautiful grounds.”

Sicheng hesitates, but he desire to see more of Taeil wins out over any voice in his head screaming about boundaries and propriety. “I shall not disappoint you, then, should I, my lord?”

Taeil smirks. “Certainly not.”

He offers his arm, and Sicheng takes it once again, leaving Ten and Jungwoo behind without another word as Taeil walks him along a cobblestone pathway, the ground hot beneath his feet, shoes made of a thin fabric not suited for the weather. Sicheng sees the expanse of the garden is much more than he originally thought, taking up at least a mile of ground. Everything is so colorful, gorgeous pinks, purples and yellows blooming in the bright green bushes. Sicheng inhales, and the smell of the sea hits the back of his throat, sending a smile to his face. It is the closest he has ever gotten to smelling his home since he left it.

Taeil watches him carefully. “The smell of the air pleases you, Sicheng?”

Sicheng shivers. Of course, now that they are alone, Taeil will address him by his given name. 

“Yes,” he muses, “I can smell the sea. Though the Forest’s ocean had a lighter scent and was certainly less salty, this will suit me just fine.”

“The Southern Forest is near the sea?” Taeil asks, sounding pleasantly surprised.

A large grin blooms across Sicheng’s face at the prospect of sharing stories of the sea. “Indeed! I played along the shore often when I was a babe. The sand there is black, and water is like ice, but yes, there is a sea.”

“Fascinating,” Taeil whispers. “Black sand, I could not imagine.”

“You have always lived on the Islands, my lord?” Sicheng asks.

“Taeil,” the lord corrects with a beautiful smile. “And yes, I know nowhere else. The Islands are my home.”

Sicheng furrows his eyebrows. “You have never left the Islands?”

“No,” Taeil replies. “I have not yet had the need to. Though, hearing you speak of the Southern Forest’s sea certainly has me wishing I required a trip there. I would love to feel black sand between my toes.”

“It is an experience unlike any other,” Sicheng says, confident in his home. “I will always miss the sea the most.”

Taeil looks at Sicheng, face pensive. “Not your family?”

“No,” Sicheng does not even have to think. “Without my mother, my family is broken. I have not spoken to my brothers in years, my father only out of necessity as the alliance with the Islands was forming."

“A pity,” Taeil says, and he means it, “though I suppose the same can be said for me. I hardly speak to my own father.”

This surprises Sicheng. “Truly? Is your father not a lord as well?”

Taeil’s smile is full of mirth when he stops the two of them on their walk, gesturing to a bench placed underneath a large brush of flowers almost as tall as Sicheng. They both take a seat as Taeil says, “no, my father is not a lord.”

Sicheng hums, taking note of the fact that he and Taeil’s arms are still linked, despite the fact that they are sitting down. He says nothing, enjoying the close contact and the new company.

“Your envoy…” Taeil trails off, “they are with you often?”

“Yes,” Sicheng confirms.

Taeil nods. “I take it you do not have much to do during the day.”

“That would be correct,” Sicheng replies, mouth flattening. “I rarely leave my bedchambers at all unless it is time for a meal, though I suppose there is not much for a consort to do around here, particularly if said consort is a breeder.”

“You believe the Islands to be prejudiced?” Taeil asks, eyebrows raised.

Sicheng allows himself to think for a moment. Though Taeil has been a wonderful companion, he does not want his thoughts to be told to anyone else, least of all the King and Queen. “No…not prejudiced,” he says carefully. “Though I do believe I am the first breeder to marry into the royal family.”

“That you are,” Taeil confirms with a kind smile, and Sicheng relaxes. If anyone on the Islands are prejudiced, Sicheng is certain that Taeil is not one of them. “I always found the existence of breeders to be fascinating. Men that are capable of bearing children, truly a gift of nature, no?”

Sicheng’s heart soars. “I have always believed myself to be something of miraculous nature,” he speaks softly, embarrassed.

“Breeders are so often belittled for their bodies,” Taeil says, “I have always greatly appreciated the gifts they have.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Sicheng asks. “That I have a gift?”

Taeil turns on the bench and the two lock eyes. Sicheng sees everything in Taeil’s eyes, the openness, the honesty, the sincerity. Everything that Sicheng has ever wanted to see in the face of the person he speaks to. 

“I believe you are a gift, Sicheng.”

“Oh,” Sicheng sighs, feeling tears forming in his eyes. “That is…”

Taeil smiles again, eyes crinkling from the force of it, and Sicheng could not look away if he wanted to, feeling a grin sweep across his own face. He takes the time to study Taeil’s face, his full cheeks, his honey-toned skin, shining like bronze in the bright sun. He takes in his flat nose, his full lips, his perfect, white teeth and his rounded chin. Everything about Taeil, down to the discolored imperfections on his skin, is captivating to Sicheng. He does not know how long he sits there, taking in Taeil’s face and letting Taeil take in his.

“I—“ 

“My prince!” Jungwoo calls, effectively cutting Sicheng off. Ten trails behind him, looking sullen and quite bored. “I am so sorry to interrupt, my lord, but the prince must return to the castle now. Preparations for dinner will take a long time, and we must get started straight away.”

Sicheng is pulled out of his reverie, stunned into silence when he sees that the sky has paled to a nice purple color, the sun slowly starting to sink. Had he truly been locked eyes with Taeil for so long? Did he truly not notice how the day ran away from him so suddenly?

“Oh, do not worry, dear Jungwoo,” Taeil says smoothly, and Jungwoo blushes at the direct acknowledgement, “my apologies for keeping the consort away for so long.”

“Do not apologize, my lord,” Jungwoo preens. “Time gets away from the best of us, after all.”

Ten steps in front of Jungwoo, looking annoyed. “Nevertheless, my prince, we must go back to the castle at once. Please follow me.”

Sicheng nods, turning to Taeil once more but seeing that his gaze is trained on Jungwoo now, his gentle eyes and smile directed at him instead. “Right away,” Sicheng replies.

“Would you do me the honor of escorting me back to the castle, Jungwoo?” Taeil asks, arm already poised.

Jungwoo turns beet red. “I—is that proper, my lord?” 

“I am a lord. Quite literally, everything I do is proper, and I wish to be escorted back to the castle. The walk gets rather lonely, would you not agree?”

“Y-yes, my lord,” Jungwoo says breathlessly, “of course, I would be delighted to escort you.”

Ten rests his hand around Sicheng’s elbow, pulling him with him. “Come along, my prince,” he says gruffly, “there is nothing for you here.”

***

“Oh, _gods_ ,” Sicheng moans, thighs tightened around Yuta’s hips as he bounces up and down on his cock. Yuta’s grip on his waist only tightens, squeezing bruises into his skin, and Sicheng throws his head back when Yuta’s cock hits that spot inside of him, shooting sparks up his spine and sending his body into overdrive. 

Sicheng whines, high and needy as Yuta plants his feet on the mattress and begins to move his hips in time with Sicheng’s, their bodies meeting together in the middle harder and faster than before. Sicheng collapses as Yuta hits that spot on every thrust, falling onto Yuta’s body and moaning weakly as Yuta continues to move his hips.

“Do you need to move?” Yuta asks breathlessly. Sicheng whimpers and nods against him, and Yuta flips them over, slipping out of Sicheng and turning him over into his stomach. Sicheng dutifully manages to get up onto his knees, arching his back and presenting himself for his husband. Yuta groans at the sight, slipping back inside of him. “You always look so delicious,” he says gruffly.

Basking in the pleasure, Sicheng makes little movements as Yuta seeks out his release, rutting against Sicheng and eventually pushing him down to lie flat on the mattress. Sicheng then discovers that he did that so that his own cock would rub against the mattress with every thrust, and his noises increase in intensity as a result.

They both finish, Yuta buried deep inside of Sicheng, and he maneuvers the two to lie on their sides, Yuta staying inside of him. His body blankets Sicheng’s, and it is the warmest he has felt since their wedding night. Sicheng takes advantage of the contact and snuggles in closer, trying not to wiggle too much and jostle Yuta’s sensitive cock.

“You are adjusting well to living here, I have heard,” Yuta says, and the tone of his voice makes Sicheng think that perhaps he moved them to this position to trap him.

“…Yes,” Sicheng answers tentatively, “there are kind people here.”

“ _Kind_ , of course,” Yuta hums, “Lord Moon is quite kind, no?”

Sicheng definitely feels trapped. “Yes, he is.”

“I heard that he seems to be quite taken with you. That the two of you enjoy long walks around the grounds together, talking about anything and everything.”

He freezes. “I am not sure what you mean, my prince.”

“Do stop playing coy,” Yuta replies, much colder than before, “I am no fool, as you must very well know.”

Sicheng jolts at that. He attempts to sit up, but Yuta’s arm is locked around him, keeping him in place against Yuta’s chest. Sicheng can feel his husband’s heart beating against him, and he hears his own rattling around in his chest. Fear for what Yuta will do if Sicheng says something wrong courses through him. It is true, he and Taeil have taken several walks together since their last in the gardens on that sunny day, and they do talk, but Sicheng has never allowed for Taeil to do anything other than hold his arm. Yuta must know this.

“I—my prince, I am not sure what you have heard, but I can assure you that there are no transgressions on these walks,” Sicheng tries.

“That you take company with any man that is not me is a transgression,” Yuta spits.

Sicheng gulps. “I am not allowed in the company of the lords on your council?” he asks, keeping his tone as innocent as possible. He does not want to seem like he is fishing for permission to spend time with other men.

“Not the unmarried ones, no,” Yuta hisses, “not my half-brother.”

“Half-brother?!” Sicheng gasps incredulously. “Lord Moon is your half-brother?”

Yuta stills at that, his limbs locking tight around Sicheng’s. “Go to sleep,” he finally huffs out, sighing deeply afterwards and relaxing back into the mattress, presumably to ignore Sicheng’s question and to fall asleep.

Sicheng falls asleep warm in Yuta’s arms, and when he wakes up, the bed is cold and empty.

Feeling guilty, Sicheng attends breakfast, going through the motions of the meal. He nods when is appropriate, lets out soft chuckles when the King tells one of his ‘jokes’, and bows his head deeply when his husband joins him, followed shortly by Taeil.

Whether he can help it or not, Sicheng’s eyes do not stray from Taeil for the rest of his meal. He is conscious of the fact that Yuta has his eyes on him as well, boring into the side of his head and nearly drilling a hole through the other side, but Sicheng ignores it in favor of watching Taeil. Is it true, what Yuta said last night? Is Taeil truly Yuta’s half-brother? If that is the case, why has the King not claimed a second bastard? They cannot share a mother, the King’s family name is Kim, and Yuta’s is Nakamoto, making that his mother’s. Taeil’s family name is Moon, which is most definitely not Nakamoto, and unless Yuta’s mother married and took another name, Taeil is a Kim. 

Taeil and Sicheng finish first, and once again Taeil offers to escort Sicheng back to his bedchambers. The King grants him permission, and Sicheng watches as Yuta’s jaw clenches. He must know what Sicheng will ask the second they are out of earshot of their present company.

As they round the corner, Sicheng tugs lightly on Taeil’s arm. “I have heard something about you that I am sure I was not meant to hear,” he says cautiously.

Taeil slows in his walk, but his face does not change. “What could that possibly be?”

“That you are the half-brother of the Prince.”

They stop walking, and Taeil stares resolutely ahead, seemingly refusing to look Sicheng’s way. Sicheng knows then that Yuta was not mistaken in his words, that the two are related in some way.

“So it is true?” Sicheng asks, just to be sure. “You are my husband’s half-brother? We are related?”

Taeil smiles ruefully. “From whom did you hear that?”

“Why, my husband, of course,” Sicheng says. “Who else could have told me?”

“I see,” Taeil’s tone is dry, lifeless. “So, you know. I am the Prince’s half-brother, and the King’s first bastard son.”

Now Sicheng has this confirmed as well. Moon must be his mother’s family name, and the King is Taeil’s father as well. But…

“ _First_ bastard son?” Sicheng asks. “You are older than Prince Yuta?”

Taeil nods. “By two years. My mother was a faerie working out of a whorehouse. She is not the type of lady the King would ever claim to have known at any point, though I have always seen her as a gracious woman, despite her profession.”

“Of course,” Sicheng says softly, knowing Taeil’s strong feelings over his mother and her passing.

“I have not been a lord for long, Sicheng,” Taeil says, and thee is resignation on his face. “The Prince was claimed before I was, and by the time I arrived to the castle, he was already being groomed as the heir to the Islands’ throne. Not that I would want any sort of claim to the throne, but the opportunity was there if I had gotten here first. The King did not want to deal with the scandal that would be two bastard sons, both claimed, fighting over the throne, and so when I arrived, I was given lordship and told to shut my mouth.”

“And this is what you meant,” Sicheng muses, “when you said you hardly speak to your father. You were talking about the King.”

Taeil nods. “As you know, I am invited to breakfast every morning. I suppose that is to keep me complacent in my lordship, content with my position on the council and my distant relationship with my father. The Queen does not know of my true parentage either, she only knows that I am a ‘respectable man deserving of lordship’.”

“I cannot imagine,” Sicheng whispers, “to have to hide your true self from everyone. To tell lies every time you open your mouth.”

“There are worse fates,” Taeil grimaces. “My mother died from a sickness a patron gave her, and because we had no money to treat her. I live a lie, yes, but I have money and status now. I can pay for any treatment for any illness. I will not die anytime soon, only when my body is truly ready. I am thankful for the position the King has given me, though he does not acknowledge me otherwise.”

Sicheng bites his lip and unlinks their arms, stepping in front of Taeil. He keeps his head down as he wraps his arms around Taeil’s neck, pulling him in for a hug. Taeil’s breath stutters, but he soon wraps his arms around Sicheng’s waist, returning the embrace. Sicheng feels warmer here than he did in his husband’s arms while they were falling asleep.

“Thank you,” Sicheng whispers, “for telling me your truth. I will cherish it, and I will not tell anyone else.”

“I am grateful to have someone so lovely to tell,” Taeil whispers back, “and thank _you_ for keeping my secrets.”

“Always,” Sicheng says, and he finds that it is the most sincere thing he has said since he arrived to the Islands.

“My prince—oh!” 

Sicheng jumps out of Taeil’s arms, smoothing down the front of his robes and sighing with relief when he realizes it is Jungwoo that has interrupted them, as opposed to a more dangerous alternative.

“Dear Jungwoo,” Taeil croons, and Sicheng watches with raised eyebrows as Jungwoo’s cheeks turn a deep red. “How lovely to see you once again.”

Jungwoo bows lowly. “It is great to see you to, my lord.”

Taeil merely hums in response, looking Jungwoo up and down, eyes turning hungry as he does so. Sicheng’s eyes widen, and he thinks of Jungwoo’s vow of celibacy, the great gods to which he prayed when he made the vow, the very gods that would curse his name should he succumb to Taeil’s obvious interest in him. And when did that begin in the first place?

“Jungwoo,” Sicheng says loudly, breaking the intense eye contact between the two, “was there something you needed?”

“Oh, yes, my prince,” Jungwoo replies softly, eyes still lingering on Taeil. “My lord,” he bows once again, turning away from Taeil and walking back towards Sicheng’s bedchambers.

Sicheng looks at Taeil, who stands with a kind smile on his face, devoid of any deviance now that Jungwoo has left. “Thank you for escorting me, Taeil.”

“With pleasure, Sicheng,” is Taeil’s gentle response, and then he is off as well, rounding the corner back to wherever he is before breakfast is held.

Sicheng enters his bedchambers, taking in the way Jungwoo bustles around the room, collecting items in his arms and dumping them unceremoniously on the countertop in front of Sicheng’s vanity glass. Several outfits are laid out on Sicheng’s bed, perfectly made and devoid of any evidence of this morning, as it always is. Sicheng looks away from the bed with a flush, remembering that last night was the first night Yuta continued to touch Sicheng once their coupling was over.

“Jungwoo,” Sicheng starts, “what is going on?”

“I must get you ready at once, my prince,” Jungwoo explains breathlessly. “Seo Youngho’s husband has requested an audience with you.”

“Lee Taeyong?” Sicheng asks, confused.

Jungwoo’s face pinches up, like he wants to say something but he knows he is better off staying silent. “ _Seo_ Taeyong, my prince,” he chooses to finally say after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Of course,” Sicheng concedes. “Seo Taeyong has requested an audience with me? Whatever for?”

“I do not know, my prince,” Jungwoo replies. “I only know that one of his handmaidens cornered me in the kitchens earlier and informed me that, after breakfast, Seo Taeyong would like to have tea with you.”

“Alright,” Sicheng says stupidly, letting Jungwoo sit him down at his vanity, “but must I get ready? Am I not already ready for the day?”

Jungwoo sighs. “Yes, my prince, but there is some retouching I can do.”

Sicheng stays silent after that, letting Jungwoo’s fingers flit over his face, lightly brushing on powders and gels that make his face glow magically, though not overdoing it to preserve his natural looks. Jungwoo restyles his hair, running a bit more gel through it and giving it a fresh, new look. Sicheng lets Jungwoo stand him up and undress him, putting him in robes that are a lot lighter in both color and wear, a silkier material than what he is used to.

“No velvet?” Sicheng asks, trying to sound teasing but clearly failing at Jungwoo’s bright flush.

“The young lord’s husband may expect you to be wearing something more fit for the Islands,” Jungwoo explains, voice hushed. “You would not want to look as if you are holding onto the Southern Forest, especially at this stage in your marriage. You _should_ already be two months along in a pregnancy as it is.”

Sicheng winces. “I do not remain not pregnant through lack of trying, Jungwoo.”

“I know, my prince,” Jungwoo grimaces, “I change your sheets every morning.”

Jungwoo finishes redressing Sicheng, satisfied once all of the pieces have come together. Sicheng takes a quick look at himself in the looking glass and decides that lighter colors, while gorgeous, do not suit his complexion or traits. Jungwoo says nothing, merely smiling with weak satisfaction before leading Sicheng out the door of his bedchambers.

“I will escort you to the parlor that Seo Taeyong’s handmaiden informed me he would be, and then I shall be back in two hours to escort you back to your bedchambers.”

Sicheng’s eyes widen. “It will take that long?”

Jungwoo shrugs. “I am merely operating under the timeline the handmaiden gave me. She seemed very punctual. I do not wish to cross anyone here, my prince, so two hours it is.”

“I suppose,” Sicheng grumbles, but he lets Jungwoo steer him up a steep staircase, winding around in a cylindrical formation before exiting out onto an indoor landing. Sicheng looks down, and he can see large groups of people milling about, most wearing very expensive and sophisticated looking robes.

“The council meets down there,” Jungwoo whispers informatively.

Sicheng brightens, subconsciously trying to find Taeil, and is disappointed when they cross to the other side of the landing without spotting him.

At last, Jungwoo stops the two in front of a rather simple looking door. “This is where you are to meet him,” Jungwoo says. “Good luck, I shall see you later.”

“Thank you, Jungwoo.”

Jungwoo scurries off to do _whatever_ it is that he does during the day while Sicheng is busy, and Sicheng stands in front of the door, heaving nervously. For what could Seo Taeyong _possibly_ want to see him about? Their last conversation, while imperative for Sicheng’s comfort during his wedding night, was not exactly pleasant, nor was it anything close to amicable. Seo Taeyong’s treatment of Sicheng has always been as if Sicheng is a particularly interesting looking insect and Taeyong would like to see he favors on the side of the nastier bugs or the more pleasant ones with black polka dots on red background.

Sicheng opens the door and seals his fate, the door making hardly any noise as it swings open on its hinges. As it turns out, Taeyong probably would not have heard it if Sicheng had thrown the door open, letting it bang against the wall.

Taeyong is in heated conversation with another man, one significantly taller than Taeyong but around the same height as Sicheng, with a slender build and face. He is most definitely a faerie, his ears pointed upwards slightly, his black hair falling in thick, curly locks around his forehead. His features are rather pointed and very prominent, his nose thin and eyes slanted exaggeratedly, lips pulled into a sneer as he stands face to face with Taeyong.

“You are letting your husband cloud your judgement,” the unknown faerie hisses. “Once again, you have allowed personal pleasures to overrule your goals, the entire reason you are here in the first place.”

“Do not lecture _me_ about losing focus,” Taeyong replies just as harshly, the pink of his face matching his hair. “Or have you not been bought as the Jung boy’s personal pleasure toy?”

The faerie scowls, his beautiful face morphing into one of ugly anger. “I am doing my job! While you lounge about during the day and let your vile, _human_ husband fuck you all through the night, _I_ am the one making progress! Did you even care to hear about the Jungs sudden involvement with the war? Or did you just want to exchange unpleasantries and call it an afternoon?”

_War?_ Sicheng thinks. _There is no war, there hasn’t been for decades._

Taeyong seems to be stumped as well. “The Jungs?” he asks, sounding incredulous and vaguely awed. “The Jungs have chosen to side with the faerie kingdoms?”

“No,” the faerie replies, tone cold while his body slumps, “do you think them idiots? They are siding with the Kims, as they should. The elder Jung is one of the most respectable members of the Islands’ council. He would never choose to side with the Forest and the Ports.”

“What are you talking about?” Sicheng blurts out, unable to keep silent any longer. He watches as Taeyong and the faerie’s heads both whip around, staring at Sicheng with wide eyes. “What war? Are the Islands planning on breaking the alliance? What of my marriage?”

Taeyong stares for a long time, eyes eventually returning to their normal size. While the other faerie shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, Taeyong begins to size Sicheng up, expression turning to a glare while his lips curl into an unforgiving smirk.

“Well,” Taeyong drawls, hand coming up to his chin, “you certainly were _not_ supposed to hear that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dun...
> 
> i'm REALLY curious to see you guys' thoughts on this chapter. it's the longest single chapter i've ever written for any of my stories, and the next chapter is only going to be longer, so please leave a comment with your thoughts if you want to :))
> 
> follow me on twitter @suhyeols for a good laugh or two. though right now it's a little depressing over there, since i decided to edit and publish this instead of laying in bed crying over junmyeon's enlistment.
> 
> have a good night guys, and stay safe!


	3. part three: spoiled fruits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im finally back! i can't believe it took me this long to write this part, it's about half the length of the last one, and i feel terrible about that. but, there is some consolation...
> 
> this story is going to be a LOT longer than i originally thought it would be. the chapter count has gone up to 4, and i can't promise it will stay there. odds are, each time i crank out a new part, i'll add another one. i'm just not sure how long this story is going to be anymore. i thought i had an idea when i began my outline for this story, and while the outline is nearly complete, the length seems to be getting longer and longer. so this isn't the last part! there's much much more to come! stay tuned!

part three: spoiled fruits

Sicheng looks back and forth between Taeyong and the other faerie. Taeyong stands there with a smug look on his face, only furthering Sicheng’s confusion, while the other faerie chews on his lips, eyebrows pulled together tautly.

“Can one of you please give me some answers?” Sicheng asks.

Taeyong looks at the other faerie. “Doyoung?” he prompts, voice sickly sweet and entirely unlike Taeyong. “Would you like to do the honors?”

The other faerie—Doyoung—glares at Taeyong. “No, I would not,” he says, his chin sticking out defiantly. “You are the one who brought us into this mess, you should be the one to get us out of it.”

“Oh,” Taeyong laughs, “ _I_ did? How, may I ask, did _I_ bring us into this mess?”

“He is not here of his own accord, yes?” Doyoung asks, gesturing to Sicheng. “He was summoned here, presumably by you.”

Taeyong scoffs. “And what of it? You were supposed to be long gone!”

Sicheng clears his throat at that, drawing both of their attention. “I would like to know of the war the two of you speak of. Are the Islands planning to go to war? How are the faerie kingdoms involved? Is everyone uniting to fight? But then, what enemy is powerful enough to garner such a large response?”

Doyoung blinks, looking from Taeyong to Sicheng with a bewildered look on his face. “You have not informed him of _anything_?” he asks incredulously. “How long has he been here? And you have not said a word?”

“I have been biding my time,” Taeyong replies with gritted teeth.

“ _Pardon me_ ,” Sicheng says much more forcefully. “I require answers. _Now_.”

“Of course, consort,” Taeyong answers diplomatically while Doyoung rolls his eyes behind him.

Taeyong gestures for Sicheng to sit where three chairs are surrounding a table with a steaming tea kettle, clearly meant for Taeyong and Sicheng’s private meeting. Taeyong and Doyoung take the other two seats, looking at each other with unreadable expressions. Sicheng cannot help it when his frustration grows, feeling disconnected from the other two faeries and desperately wanting to know of what they were speaking of before they realized he was in the room with them.

“I suppose we should start at the beginning,” Taeyong says, sighing heavily afterwards. Doyoung’s expression is still nasty, taking Taeyong in like one would take in the stench of overly ripe fruit.

“Please,” Sicheng prompts impatiently. 

Taeyong clears his throat, glancing at Doyoung one last time. “When my father agreed to marry me to the son of Lord Seo, there were…conditions that I was made aware of before traveling to the Islands.”

The faerie pauses and Sicheng doesn't speak, letting Taeyong grow uncomfortable with the silence.

“I was made aware of some things that changed the reason I was traveling to the Islands in the first place. I was no longer traveling just to marry Seo Youngho, but also to act as spy for the Ports. Any information I could pick up on the dealings of the Islands’ council, I was to report back to my father immediately,” Taeyong explains.

“But…why?” Sicheng asks, feeling small and insignificant in a room with two faeries clearly more knowledgeable than he. “Why must you spy for the Ports? Is your kingdom at war with the Islands?”

Taeyong’s eyes flit to Doyoung once again, and the latter sighs, setting down the cup of tea he was enjoying with an irritated look on his face.

“As I do not know you, I will be perfectly blunt,” Doyoung says breezily. “The Southern Forest and the Ports are at war with the Islands, the Islands are just not yet aware of it.”

Sicheng blinks. “You mean to say, the Forest and the Ports plan to attack the Islands? Unprovoked?”

“No,” Doyoung replies firmly, “we are not unprovoked. The Islands have committed crimes that violate the treaty established between human and faerie kingdoms. We are well within our right to retaliate.”

The Islands have violated the treaty? The notorious treaty in question was written during a summit wherein an envoy from every kingdom was present, humans and faeries alike all meeting together to form a plan that ensures that neither party harms the other because of their species. War is inevitable, particularly when two kingdoms have opposing ideals, but it is illegal under the treaty to attack a kingdom because of the species that kingdom predominantly houses.

And now, the Ports and the Forest—Sicheng’s Southern Forest—have allegedly joined forces under the guise of starting a war with the Islands. What have the Islands done to garner such a response?

Sicheng asks just this, opening the floor for further explanation. Taeyong and Doyoung exchange looks _again_ , and really, Sicheng ought to just leave the room and forget either faerie said a thing.

“Consort,” Taeyong begins, voice almost gentle, “please do not let what we are about to tell you change the way you behave day in and day out. The Islands _cannot_ see a change in your behavior, it will ruin everything. I have spent years in this court pretending that I do not know a thing, and it has served me well. Doyoung has only just arrived as a companion, and he too will behave as if he is unknowing. This is something you absolutely _must_ do, do you understand?”

“Whatever it is,” Sicheng say firmly, “I will not let it cloud my behavior.”

Doyoung scoffs. “You say that now.”

“I promise,” Sicheng says, purposefully locking eyes with Doyoung until the faerie looks away, uncomfortable.

Taeyong inhales deeply, making eye contact with Sicheng as he starts to explain. “The Islands are capturing Forest faeries to work as concubines and slaves.”

Sicheng’s world shatters.

“It is typically done at sea,” Taeyong continues, voice soft and soothing now, aware of Sicheng’s distress. “The Islands have small slave ships that can pass as transport ships used for trade. They sail the oceans searching for ships marked with the Forest’s insignia and invade them. Only a faerie or two is stolen from each ship, regardless of gender, and they are held captive in the slave ship until it returns to the Islands. If the faeries in their captured ranks are female or breeders, they are sold to pleasure houses and water holes to… _serve_ the patrons there. If they are male, they are sold into slavery. Many work here, in the castle, as cooks and servants.”

“The Southern Forest managed to discover the pattern and connect the dots to uncover what the Islands have been doing,” Doyoung steps in. “They alerted the Ports, and ever since, there has been an ongoing plot to attack the Islands.”

Sicheng gulps, feeling sick to his stomach. “How long have the Islands been doing this?” Sicheng asks. “How long have the Forest and the Ports been aware?”

“As for the Islands, that information is unclear,” Doyoung answers, “but the Forest and Ports have been aware of this for years.”

“And,” Sicheng’s voice is shaky now, uncontrollably so, “this is the work of the Kims? I mean to say, the King and Queen are aware of these misdeeds? They are who the Forest and Ports mean to attack?”

Taeyong’s face is rigid now. “Yes,” he replies firmly, “they are who will come under attack when the Forest and Ports finally strike.”

Sicheng feels like crying, but his dignity does not allow it. “D-does my husband know? Does the Prince know of any of this?”

Taeyong’s expression turns sympathetic, which only makes Sicheng want to cry harder. “I am not completely aware of what Prince Yuta does or does not know,” he says. “Some days, I am sure that he knows exactly what is going on, but there are others where I am sure he is in the dark. He is very hard to read.”

Sicheng coughs out a laugh. _Yes_ , he thinks, _that much is clear_. He is unsure whether to feel relieved that the extent of Yuta’s knowledge of the Islands’ treatment of faeries is unknown.

“You still understand the need for discretion, yes?” Doyoung asks, eyebrows pulled together tightly. “You acknowledge that the slightest slip up may ruin everything?”

“Yes,” Sicheng replies solemnly. “I understand. I…will not breathe a word out of place.”

Taeyong smirks. “Excellent,” he claps, satisfied. “Would you like me to politely disinvite Doyoung from this gathering and have tea just the two of us? There are still some things I would like to discuss.”

“No,” Sicheng responds, “I would like to retire to my bedchambers, if that is alright.”

“It is perfectly alright,” Taeyong answers good-naturedly, “just remember your promise!”

Sicheng nods, then stands from the table, stomach tightening dangerously. He swallows down a load of bile rising up his throat, hoping his face does not look too sickly—Jungwoo went light on the face powder—before turning away from the faeries, slowly but surely making his way towards the door to the parlor.

“Oh, and Sicheng,” Taeyong calls out, startling Sicheng, having only been addressed directly by name by Taeil (and what if Taeil knows?) “Do keep in mind that there may be people around you that are aware of the Forest and Ports’ additional alliance. I think you will find that there is someone to talk to, should you need it.”

With one final nod, Sicheng exits the parlor, head swimming as he tries to sort out who amongst the people around him might be a spy.

***

Returning to normalcy proves difficult for Sicheng, despite the promise he made. Waking the next morning and finding himself, once again, in an empty, cold bed, Yuta’s side already made up around Sicheng’s form without disturbing him, does not have the same meaning as it did before. Sicheng looks down at himself, curled into a tight, little ball to avoid shivering throughout the cold, lonely night, Yuta’s presence doing nothing to warm him, and he cannot help but think: is Yuta avoiding him so vehemently because he knows what his father is responsible for? Is he expected to carry on with these policies once he is coronated?

Sicheng tries to swallow back his fears as Jungwoo enters the room, prim and proper as always. He tries not to look upon his handmaiden and friend with suspicious eyes, wondering if he is the other spy that Taeyong spoke of, if Jungwoo is the one who is in his envoy for the sole reason of collecting information. Jungwoo, with his soft and innocent face, round and smooth at the edges, his smile so kind and calming, is he the one here with ulterior motives?

He forces himself through the motions of his daily morning routine, sitting pliantly as Jungwoo bathes him, Ten joining soon afterwards and lighting the candles that Sicheng mentioned he liked earlier. He allows himself to be led back into the bedroom, sitting down at the vanity and keeping his eyes closed and mouth slightly open until his hair and makeup is done. He steps into his clothes robotically, his robes nothing too extravagant. 

“The Queen is expecting an audience with you before breakfast, my prince,” Jungwoo says gently just as Ten finishes tying Sicheng’s shoes.

Sicheng looks up, concerned. “An audience with the Queen?” What does she know? Is she aware of the conversation Sicheng had with Taeyong and Doyoung? Was the entire interaction a trap?

But Jungwoo just smiles, soft and self-assured as always. “Yes, my prince. I believe she will be saying something in regards to your lack of heir.” At the raise of Sicheng’s eyebrow, he quickly backtracks. “Forgive me, my prince, this is just what I have heard! The Queen’s handmaidens are chatty.”

“I see,” Sicheng says, “it is alright, Jungwoo, thank you.”

“You are welcome, my prince,” Jungwoo replies, relieved.

Ten straightens up from his kneeling position to look between the two with scorn. “So the Queen has summoned you to…shame you? Is that what I am gathering?”

Jungwoo straightens. “I doubt the Queen would do such a thing! She is probably concerned for the lack of heir, any sensible royal would be.”

Ten scoffs, and Sicheng intervenes before the confrontation escalates, as it so often does these days. “Alright. Thank you, Jungwoo. I appreciate your telling me, as always. Ten, please, do not start something today of all days.”

“Why?” Ten questions. “Is something happening today? Are you actually pregnant?”

“No, and _no_ ,” Sicheng replies. “Just leave it, please.”

Ten grumbles, but complies.

Jungwoo escorts Sicheng to the dining hall, flushing brightly when Taeil appears from around the corner, a smile on his face. Sicheng watches with narrowed eyes as a giggling, bumbling Jungwoo trips his way over to the young lord, hands clasped nervously in front of him as he greets him. The door swings open before he can witness any of their further interaction, and Sicheng tries not to stare with wide eyes as the Queen stands alone in the massive hall.

Stepping inside of the hall, the door swings shut behind him, nearly startling Sicheng out of his shoes. The Queen waits patiently, hands clasped behind her, with a vague air of annoyance at Sicheng’s stumbling.

“Your Grace,” Sicheng bows lowly, wanting to make as good of an impression as possible, if the Queen really is to confront him on what he thinks she will.

“Our lovely consort,” is the Queen’s response, mocking in tone, and when Sicheng straightens out, the Queen is looking at him with obvious disdain. This interaction will not be a pleasant one. “I was so glad to hear that you received my summons with such little notice. Do thank you handmaidens for their quick attentiveness.”

Sicheng nods a bit too enthusiastically. “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Now,” the Queen says, voice clipped, “I hope you do not mind me asking how it is possible that, given the extent of your stay here, you are not yet pregnant with my son’s heir.”

Sicheng notices the biting tone she takes on the words ‘my son’, but chooses to say nothing. Sicheng knows that he may very well be in the same position in a few years time, stuck calling a boy his son that has no real relation to him, other than the fact that his husband fathered him with another woman.

“I—“

“Is it not true that the Prince takes you nearly every night?” the Queen asks, face solid despite the lewd question.

Fighting off a blush, Sicheng tries not to stutter through his retort. “Yes, Your Grace, but—“

“And is it not true that _breeders_ are supposed to be particularly fertile, especially virgins?”

“Your Grace!” Sicheng gasps, offended. “I do not take kindly to hearing my rank spit out in such an aggravated manner.”

The Queen merely raises an eyebrow, the rest of her body and face staying stoically still. “Am I aggravated?” she asks, unbothered. “I must admit, I _am_ quite aggravated. You see, I am aggravated that my husband has chosen a filthy hermaphrodite _faerie_ as his heir’s bride. I am aggravated that said faerie chooses not to spend his days learning the etiquette of his new home, but rather to wander the halls of this palace with a man that is not his husband, raising questions and rumors and God knows what else. I am _aggravated_ because the future of my kingdom is in the hands of a street whore who, apparently, is incapable of fulfilling the _one job_ he has. I am aggravated, you mockery of a consort, because, should you actually fall pregnant, your child will be a half-breed creature that is most certainly _not_ good enough to sit on my husband’s throne!”

Sicheng blinks rapidly, tears falling in clumps down his cheeks. “Your Grace, I—“

“Spare me the pity party, consort,” the Queen waves off tiredly, “and do, for the love of God, fulfill your duties better than you have. Everyone in this castle already knows you are only good for spreading your legs. Do it better than the skimpy women my son loves to warm his bed with while you frolic about with the arrogant Lord Moon.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Sicheng groans pitifully, his chest wracking with sobs now. “Your Grace, please do not—“

The Queen interrupts him for the last time. “Hurry along then, before one of his mistresses falls pregnant, and you become a thing with no use to us.”

Sicheng takes the out and rushes out the doors, running at full speed back to his bedchambers, ignoring the fact that he without an escort. He pushes open the doors to his bedchambers and falls onto his bed, his morning appetite long gone as the bell for breakfast sounds down the halls. Sicheng sobs into the blankets, body shaking from the force, as his conversation with the Queen—if he could even call it that—reels through his head once again.

He hears the door opening, but he does not look up from where his face is shoved into the blankets, too ashamed to greet whoever his guest is. “Oh my—“ he cries harder at the familiar voice, hears footsteps rushing towards him, “my prince!”

Ten scoops Sicheng’s body up, cradling him in his small arms, and yet Sicheng feels more comforted than he has ever felt before. He sobs into Ten’s chest, allowing Ten to run his fingers through his hair, fingernail scratching gently on his scalp.

“Oh, my prince,” Ten whispers soothingly, his gentleness a rarity, “everything will be fine. Hush now, my prince, everything will be fine.”

Sicheng eventually quiets down, resorting to soft cooing into Ten’s chest, tears smearing against the other’s skin. Not for the first time, Sicheng wonders if he will ever feel this sort of affection from his husband. Soon after, his thoughts wander to the war, and a new wave of tears sprout from his eyes at the idea of the same man that fucks him into the pillows every night ordering the attacks on the ships from his homeland.

***

Bad news arrives in the form of Jungwoo’s pleasured smile.

After Ten leaves him to wallow in his own sorrows, Sicheng frowns at the soft, hesitant knock on the door to his bedchambers. The door opens slightly, Jungwoo’s soft head of hair peaking through as Sicheng burrows himself further into the sheets. Jungwoo is hesitant, Sicheng can tell, and so he calls him in, allowing him to step inside and shut the door gently behind him.

“My prince,” Jungwoo says, voice too soft, too silky sweet, “I have something I would like to speak with you about.”

“Yes,” Sicheng replies dismissively, “come sit and speak what is on your mind.”

He should have turned his precious handmaiden away.

Jungwoo complies, walking over to perch himself on the edge of Sicheng’s marriage bed. His feet dangle off the end and he places his hands in his lap, watching Sicheng with shifting eyes.

“I must admit, I am extremely embarrassed to be sharing this with you,” Jungwoo begins, hands wringing nervously in his lap.

Sicheng sits up, trying to give his handmaiden as much courtesy as possible despite his fragile state of mind. “What is it, Jungwoo?”

“I…” Jungwoo trails off, looking up to the ceiling, and when he looks back down, the candlelight allows Sicheng to see the mist of tears clouding over Jungwoo’s eyes. He clears his throat and his smile returns to his face, the film of tears over his eyes clouding his vision still.

“I am pregnant,” Jungwoo confesses.

Sicheng’s heartbeat crashes in his ears, deafening in its might. Jungwoo is looking so expectantly at Sicheng, as if expecting a congratulations, and Sicheng supposes that, in normal circumstances, this would warrant such a response. But these are no normal circumstances. Jungwoo, nothing but a handmaiden to a consort that is not even respected in his own right, who has taken a vow of celibacy in the name of the gods the Forest worships so fervently, pregnant before Sicheng. He can hear the Queen’s words echoing between his ears, and he finds himself swelling with uncontrollable anger.

“You are _pregnant_ ,” Sicheng repeats dryly, looking upon his handmaiden with barely concealed disgust.

He watches as the gentle smile melts off of Jungwoo’s face. His expression crumples, a couple of tears falling down his cheeks, bottom lip wobbling as he realizes his master will not respond as kindly as he probably had hoped. No, Sicheng will not give that satisfaction to a lowly handmaiden who could not abide by the vows he made as a young boy.

“I—“ Jungwoo’s voice cracks, and his cheeks glow pink. Sicheng hates how delicate it makes him look, already playing the vulnerable part perfectly. “I am pregnant, my prince. Lord Moon is the father.”

“Oh,” Sicheng cannot help but drawl, feeling cruel now, “ _Lord Moon_. How _wonderful_. You break your vow to your kingdom, you shame your family, your people, _me_ , all to birth the bastard of a lord who would not have looked your way twice if it were not for me.”

Jungwoo winces. “My prince, please—“

“Shall I allow you the chance to explain yourself?” Sicheng asks, face pinched up in anger. “Shall I grace you with the opportunity to grovel at my feet, beg for my forgiveness, and pray that your unborn bastard die in your womb before it sees the light of day?”

“ _No_!” Jungwoo gasps, standing from the bed and clutching at his heart through his robes. “My prince, _please_! I did not mean for this to happen!”

Sicheng laughs mockingly, standing up from the bed as well, refusing to give Jungwoo the chance to place himself above him. “Oh, I am sure,” he retorts mockingly. “I am sure you had no plan to open your legs like the whore you are for the first man to look your way.”

Jungwoo sobs, face reddening from Sicheng’s words. “How could you say that to me?” he asks, voice wobbling dangerously. “How could you insinuate that I am…that I am such a—“

“What?” Sicheng asks cruelly. “A whore? How could I insinuate that you be such a whore? Easily enough, the connection was not difficult to make.”

“I cannot _believe_ —“

“Jungwoo,” Sicheng barks, startling the other faerie into silence. “You have broken your vow,” he says lowly, “the very vow you made to your King, _my father_ , the very first day you and I met. I spend all these years taking you under my wing, giving you a place to call home. I bring you across the ocean to broaden your opportunities, to give you a chance at a higher status, and _this_ is how you repay me?”

“My prince,” Jungwoo says, bravery arriving out of nowhere, “I understand that your audience with the Queen did not go well. Please no take it out on me, _please_.”

Sicheng scoffs, ignoring the voice in his head telling him to slow down and think rationally. “You think this is about the Queen?” he shouts.

He walks towards Jungwoo, large, quick steps that cause Jungwoo to flinch in place and wrap his arms around his stomach, protecting himself, protecting his _unborn child_. 

“You have betrayed me,” Sicheng spits hatefully. “Enjoy begging for scraps.”

Jungwoo’s eyes widen. “W-what do you mean, my prince?”

“I mean that you are no longer my handmaiden,” Sicheng announces, taking a step away and glaring triumphantly at his former friend. “I no longer have an envoy, just a single handmaiden. Ten will surely be able to keep up with your duties and his, I always did go easy on the two of you.”

It is a lie, and they both know it, but Jungwoo wisely says nothing, merely trembling on his feet, watching Sicheng with an expression of disbelief and heartbreak. Between Jungwoo and Ten, Jungwoo was the one who was always the most loyal to Sicheng, and the sting of this betrayal must cut deep for the young faerie. Still, Sicheng cannot see past his anger, his frustration with his own body, with the Queen, and now with his former handmaiden, who, apparently, is much more fertile than he is.

“Go,” Sicheng bites out forcefully, pointing a finger at the door. “I no longer require you.”

Jungwoo whimpers, looking back at the door and then to Sicheng, watery eyes acting as a last plea for mercy.

“ _Go_ ,” Sicheng hisses. “I do not want you here, Jungwoo.”

And so Jungwoo leaves, a river of tears trailing after him. Sicheng flops back onto the bed with a heavy sigh, his own heartbreak overpowering his earlier irritability. He has lost Jungwoo for good, that much is clear.

Sicheng lays on top of the sheets, staring blankly into space. He does not know how much time passes until the door swings open, banging against the wall with a loud thud that startles Sicheng out of his daze. Ten stands in the doorway, looking more furious than Sicheng has ever seen him, with his face pinched up and hands clenched by his side. Sicheng tries to look away, but finds that he cannot, captivated by Ten’s presence, even in his obvious anger.

“Jungwoo has been _removed_ from your envoy?” Ten asks quietly, cold rage chilling Sicheng to the bone.

“I do not wish to speak with you on this matter,” Sicheng replies, finally turning away.

Ten scoffs, and Sicheng hears the door swinging shut and loud footsteps thundering closer and closer to him, landing right in front of him. Sicheng looks down and finds Ten’s slipper-clad feet right at the edge of the bed, and when he looks up, Ten appears to be towering over him, though he knows the opposite is the case.

“We are speaking,” Ten says firmly. “You _removed_ Jungwoo?”

Sicheng blinks. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“He broke his vows,” Sicheng replies, pretending to sound uninterested. “I cannot have someone in my envoy that is so willing to break his vows.”

Ten’s face seems to be permanently etched with a scowl. “And what vow did Jungwoo break?”

“He is no longer a virgin,” Sicheng says, “he has broken his vow of celibacy. He has cursed the gods of the Southern Forest. Did you know that he has fallen pregnant with Lord Moon’s child?”

It is the silence that causes Sicheng to come to a realization, observing Ten’s unblinking eyes and stone cold face. His arms are crossed across his stomach, much like Jungwoo’s stance when he delivered the news of his pregnancy to Sicheng. Ten’s face isn’t giving anything away, but it’s the fact that he is so closed off that clues Sicheng in.

“You did know,” Sicheng realizes.

Ten’s eyebrows furrow together, but he refuses to budge another inch elsewhere. 

“How did you already know?” Sicheng asks. “How far along is he?”

“I do not know,” Ten replies, tone bland.

Sicheng balks. “I know you are lying to me. Since when do you lie to me, Ten?”

Ten’s face reddens, his expression turning angry and mean. “My prince,” Ten’s voice is as level as possible, even with the wobble from the anger, “since when have you cared about the vow? Or the gods, for that matter?”

Sicheng flinches back. “How dare you—“

“Oh, _please_!” Ten barks, taking a step back to put some distance between the two. “You have _never_ cared about holiness! Or the gods, the vows, the celibacy, any of it! Why are you choosing _now_ to care? Is it because Jungwoo has fallen pregnant before you? Or is it because Lord Moon is the father, and it was you who wished to be his mistress?”

Sicheng springs off the bed and lands a slap on Ten’s face, a quick motion that sends a whipping sound whizzing past Sicheng’s ears. Ten clutches the side of his face, eyes wide with shock, and Sicheng swears he sees the beginnings of tears clumping in his eyelashes.

“Do not speak of things you know nothing about,” Sicheng hisses.

Ten frowns. “Do not presume to know everything about what I do and do not know, _my prince_.” The last words are a mockery, an imitation of the title Sicheng once had, the title his envoy still refer to him as, as citizens of the Southern Forest that are not required to bend to the Islands’ will.

“Maybe my disbelief is the problem,” Sicheng says quietly. “I pray to gods that I do not believe exist, and this is why everything bad is happening.”

“‘Everything bad’?” Ten asks. “What do you mean, my prince?”

_The war, of course. The war, the Islands’ horrible habit of snatching faeries from ships to be sold into slavery and whorehouses. The marriage alliance—which, in hindsight, is a scam. The month long journey to the Islands, the wedding, the night that followed the ceremony and every other night after that. The fact that a war is brewing and nothing can be said about it, for fear of the information getting into the wrong hands. No one can be trusted. The lack of heir, the handmaiden’s fertility, Lord Moon’s acknowledged bastard status and the fact that_ he _has managed to produce an heir before Prince Yuta._

Sicheng says nothing.

“Right,” Ten says, as though Sicheng’s silence proves everything. “I have spoken with Jungwoo, he is not returning to your envoy. Lord Moon has inducted him into his own staff, regardless.”

“Oh, has he?” Sicheng cannot help the bitterness on his tongue, the way it leaks into his words.

Ten rolls his eyes. “Enough, my prince, please. I am sure Jungwoo suffers enough knowing his precious prince does not support him. Do refrain from speaking ill of his child’s father, if possible.”

Again, Sicheng keeps quiet. It seems to be the better than the alternative these days.

Whether Sicheng is ready to think about it or not, there is a war brewing. The Islands are committing crimes against the Southern Forest, and with the Ports’ influence intermingling, it is hard to believe that the Islands stand a chance. Furthermore, try as he might, Sicheng cannot fall pregnant, and he is actively failing his duties as a consort as the days progress. What Ten says is true, Sicheng has never held much belief for the gods, but if he were to become a religious man, he would pray to them to ease him of his misery.

“This is entirely ridiculous, my prince,” Ten says with finality, “and I think you know that.”

“I know,” Sicheng whispers, unable to look Ten directly in the eye.

“Jungwoo will not return,” Ten says, unwavering in his stern tone. “I begged, it was highly embarrassing. You have burned that bridge to smithereens.”

Sicheng nods. “I understand, Ten.”

“Alright, then.”

Ten takes his leave then, not before reminding him that dinner will be served in a couple of hours. He leaves Sicheng alone once more, his bed far too big for him to lie on it alone. Sicheng curls up on the surface, making himself as small as possible and trying to imagine what it would feel like to have Yuta’s warm body wrapped around his. It is a silly fantasy, and Sicheng feels like a fool for indulging himself, but he can’t help the satisfaction he feels at the very thought of being encased by his husband’s body.

Later, Ten returns to his room, gently prying Sicheng from the bed and moving him to the vanity. There, Ten completes all of the steps in Sicheng’s routine. Sicheng finds that having Ten’s fingers pressing a tad too harshly against his eyelids, as opposed to Jungwoo’s gentle, self-assured ones, is a change he does not want to get used to.

“This is not right,” Sicheng murmurs to himself as Ten pats dewy product onto his cheekbones.

Ten hums. “No, it is not.” He says nothing else for the remainder of Sicheng’s routine.

The walk to the dining hall is an uncomfortable one, Ten so determined not to make conversation, while Sicheng takes the time to study the portraits lining the walls once again. Every time he sees a faerie appear on the tapestries and oil paintings, he cannot help but wonder over the circumstances surrounding that faerie’s presence. Were they illegally snatched from their ships, brought to the Islands to be married into the royal family under the guise of seeming progressive? Were they a part of another marriage alliance, sent to the Islands to spy and send word back to their families? Are they entirely innocent, or are they contributing to a war that seems to have been a long time coming?

Ten bows stiffly before walking away from Sicheng, quick steps that tell Sicheng he could not wait to be out of his presence. He enters the dining hall entirely alone, hands clasped in front of him as a sign of subtle submission.

“Ah! The beautiful consort joins us at last!” the King exclaims, though he does not rise from his chair.

Sicheng bows lowly. “I apologize if I have held up your meal in any way, Your Grace,” he says humbly. “My routine took longer than expected. I have had…a change in staff recently.”

The Queen hums derisively. “That can certainly take a toll. The change was just, I imagine?”

Sicheng wonders how that is any of her business, but says nothing on that matter. “It was, Your Grace. A terrible necessity, but a necessity nonetheless.”

“Excellent,” is all the Queen says in response.

Taking his seat next to Yuta, Sicheng avidly avoids Taeil’s eyes, which could not obviously be more trained on Sicheng. At any moment, Sicheng could look up and find Taeil’s gaze unwaveringly stuck on him, analyzing him, with just the slightest hint of disdain behind his eyes.

Dinner is an awkward affair. The King attempts to fill the silence with horrible jokes, but Sicheng cannot escape the tension between he and Taeil and he and the Queen, each looking at him with varying degrees of disgust. He can tell by the probing looks he receives from Yuta that it has not escaped his husband’s notice how much extra attention he is receiving at this particular meal.

As usual, Sicheng is the first to finish, swallowing the last bits of his significantly smaller portion of food compared to the others sitting at the table, the Queen the only one at the table with portions anywhere near his size. Sicheng wonders why this custom exists. If he truly is to fall pregnant soon, would he not need all the nutrition possible? Though, he supposes small portions will help Sicheng maintain his alluring figure in the meantime, ensuring Yuta’s interest is kept until he is carrying an heir.

“If you please, Your Grace, I am ready to be excused,” Taeil speaks up, sending a beautiful smile the King’s way before resettling his eyes on Sicheng. “I would be happy to escort you back to your bedchambers, consort.”

The King swallows his food loudly. “Ah yes, of course. As usual, the two of you are excused, and thank you, Lord Moon, for your excellent manners.”

Sicheng panics at the thought of walking alone with Taeil. He clearly is gearing up for a confrontation that Sicheng just cannot have. A lecture from Taeil on his treatment of Jungwoo is the exact opposite of something that would interest him.

He clears his throat, flushing slightly under the intensity of everyone’s eyes on him. “Actually, Your Grace,” Sicheng says nervously, “I was wondering if it would be possible for me to have a second helping of the chicken. It is particularly delectable this evening—not that it is not so every evening—and I have been having a certain… _craving_ for it lately.”

The King perks up at Sicheng’s word choice, just as he intended. “Of course! Why, I feel so silly not bothering to offer you a second helping before this. You must be starving every night before you fall asleep, I imagine!”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Sicheng bows his head respectfully, “thank you.”

A servant arrives to plate a second helping of chicken onto Sicheng’s plate as Taeil stands from the table, looking at Sicheng with obvious disbelief. Next to him, Sicheng can feel Yuta’s smugness radiating off of him, and he knows that his husband is pleased that he has chosen to stay and eat with him rather than run off with another man. The Queen redirects her gaze back to her chalice, pointedly ignoring the contrasting tensions pushing back and forth between the three young men.

Sicheng makes it a point to finish his second helping slower—he did not want it in the first place, it was merely to buy him time. However, if he does not finish it, it will easily reflect poorly on him, despite the fact that the King always leaves heaps of food on his plate and always orders the palace cooks to prepare far too much for every meal. Next to him, Yuta finishes his significantly larger portion with a smug smile, cutting looks over to Sicheng every so often. Sicheng hopes the second helping does not cause him to bloat—it will make their nighttime routine much more uncomfortable.

Finally, Yuta finishes his meal, and Sicheng bears witness to his stilted goodbyes to the King and Queen for the first time, always gone long before this typically. The Queen smiles stiffly at her stepson, chugging down a large gulp of wine from her chalice immediately afterwards, while the King boisterously makes crude jokes that Yuta laughs mechanically at. 

As he watches the proceedings, Sicheng, once again, allows his mind to wander to his conversation with Taeyong and Doyoung. It occurs to him, as he listens to the King’s lewd comments about the Islands’ faeries, that the King himself is directly responsible for the kidnappings that have the Southern Forest and the Ports as worked up as they are. 

Yuta stands from the table then, holding out a hand for Sicheng to grasp, which he quickly does in a show of proper etiquette. He rises from the table, bowing lowly to the Queen and then turning to do the same for the King.

“Thank you for the second portion, Your Grace,” Sicheng remembers to say, thankful that he does not feel fuller than normal. 

The King waves it off with a cheerful laugh, a large, booming sound that nearly startles Sicheng out of his silk shoes. “No need for the thanks, consort! I am glad you enjoyed the meal.”

Sicheng bows once again, then hooks his arm around Yuta’s arm fully, a signal for his desire to leave. Yuta complies, and he leads Sicheng out of the dining hall, watching as the guards close the doors before walking Sicheng down the hallway. When they turn the corner, Yuta finally turns to Sicheng with a devious look on his face.

“You behaved excellently during that meal,” Yuta says, sounding coy.

Sicheng blinks. “I was not aware my behavior was not up to standard before.”

“It was, worry not,” Yuta concedes, “though, I must admit it made me quite pleased to see you so obviously deny Lord Moon’s offer to walk you back to our bedchambers. It…angers me, seeing you so desperate to leave after every dinner. You left me pleasantly surprised this evening.”

“I see,” Sicheng replies slowly. “Does my husband wish for me to always wait for him?”

Yuta’s eyes become deadly, pupils dilating for Sicheng to see. He hums lowly, stepping closer to Sicheng and trapping him against the wall behind him.

“Does it make me a selfish man to say yes?” Yuta asks quietly.

Sicheng says nothing, but he shakes his head, keeping eye contact with Yuta the entire time. Yuta’s mouth grows a smile, teeth shining in the torchlight above them.

“Then yes, I do wish for that.”

Nodding, Sicheng brings his right hand up, letting it trail up and down Yuta’s torso, catching on the fastenings of his dinner robes but not getting caught and tripping him up. Eventually, he lets his hand travel down to Yuta’s pants, loosely cupping the bulge there. He looks up to find Yuta’s eyes already on him, cheeks lightly flushed.

“I shall learn to eat slower then, my prince,” Sicheng says.

Yuta groans lightly in Sicheng’s ear, pressing his body as close to Sicheng’s as possible. “You murder me,” he whispers, “everyday, you kill me slowly all day long. You are…irresistible.”

“Am I?” Sicheng asks playfully.

“Mhm,” Yuta practically moans out, slowly rolling his hips into Sicheng’s hand. Sicheng can feel his husband’s cock filling out more definitively, resting heavily in his palm. He feels powerful, being able to immediately feel the power he holds over Yuta. When Yuta fucks him at night, he so easily unwinds for him, and it must be a joy to watch your lover fall apart underneath your hands. This is the closest Sicheng has gotten to that feeling.

“You need a reward, my love,” Yuta declares, rutting into Sicheng’s hand now. “For behaving so well for me.”

Despite the slight advantage Sicheng has over Yuta, his husband’s words send a shudder down his spine, and he arches off the wall and into Yuta, seeking out his warmth. “A reward?” he asks, feigning cluelessness.

Sicheng feels Yuta’s nod against his cheek, their heads so close. Yuta turns his face into Sicheng’s body and presses a light, open-mouthed kiss into the juncture of Sicheng’s neck and shoulder.

“Anything you want, darling,” Yuta says, “tonight, I shall give it to you.”

“Right now?” Sicheng asks breathlessly.

Yuta chuckles. “Not quite yet, though your desperation is everything to me. I have some business to attend to, but when I return to our bedchambers later tonight, then you will get whatever you want from me.”

Sicheng cannot help the small whimper that escapes him. “Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

***

True to his word, Yuta returns to their bedchambers just as the sky has become its darkest. Sicheng is laying on their bed, right in the middle and on top of the sheets, propped up by a mountain of pillows behind him. He is entirely naked, his right leg crossed over his left one, toes pointed while one of his hands slowly brushes across his chest, his other rubbing the smooth skin on his thigh. Sicheng feels like a delicate animal in the woods, lounged on a high rock to sunbathe while Yuta, a mountain lion, stalks him. The look in his husband’s eye certainly matches that of a predator.

Walking slowly towards the bed, Yuta removes his clothing, robes falling to the floor unceremoniously, lying forgotten in a pile at the foot of the bed. Sicheng feels power rushing to his head once again as Yuta’s eyes grow hungrier the longer he stares at Sicheng’s body, running up and down his frame as his tongue darts out to lick across his bottom lip slowly.

“My love,” Yuta croons, “what is you want from me tonight?”

Sicheng quivers at the tone of his husband’s voice, rich like velvet and thick like honey, tasting like the sweetest dessert in Sicheng’s mouth. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing thoughtfully, as Yuta finally descends over Sicheng, his frame covering his completely.

“I am all yours.”

Sicheng surges up, catching Yuta’s lips in a heated kiss that melts Sicheng into the sheets, like cream. Yuta moans into his mouth, and the vibrations travel down Sicheng’s spine, tingling and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Sicheng swipes his tongue across Yuta’s lips in a silent command, and Yuta obeys as promised, opening his mouth for Sicheng’s tongue to flick around inside, licking along his teeth before sliding against Yuta’s own tongue. Sicheng can taste wine inside his husband’s mouth, but his movements are anything but drunk. Yuta is here in this moment with Sicheng, entirely aware of his actions.

He wraps a hand around the back of Yuta’s neck, hiking one leg around his waist, before pulling his body down closer to his. Yuta all but falls on top of Sicheng, and their naked bodies run together, like rocks in a stream, smooth and steady. Sicheng rocks his hips up and swallows Yuta’s satisfied sigh, fighting a grin that wants to break out onto his face, and focusing on kissing his husband instead.

Yuta’s hands cage Sicheng’s head in on the pillows as Sicheng wraps his other legs around Yuta’s waist, hooking his feet together and effectively locking his husband’s body against his. He lets his free hand travel down Yuta’s torso, and when he cups his cock, he cannot help his satisfied smirk at the way it rests heavy and hard in the palm of his hand, throbbing from the blood pumping inside of it.

“Is this for me?” Sicheng whispers hotly into Yuta’s mouth, squeezing his cock afterwards so his husband knows just what he is referring to.

Yuta moans, shifting his hips slightly and getting just enough friction to satisfy him as Sicheng’s hand tightens around him, creating a smaller, tighter passage for his cock. “Yes,” he responds breathlessly, rutting his hips down onto Sicheng’s crotch, taking note of his equally hard cock. “Is this for _me_?”

“Always,” Sicheng answers confidently, and smiles at the punched out sigh Yuta offers as a response.

They stay like this for a few more minutes, Yuta casually thrusting into Sicheng’s hand, not enough to disturb their position, but enough that he is breathing heavily into Sicheng’s ear, loud gasps tickling Sicheng’s skin. Then Sicheng removes his hand from Yuta’s cock, ignoring his husband’s small grunt of confusion, and wrapping it around Yuta’s neck alongside his other hand.

“My prince,” Sicheng says, “my husband. I want you to suck me off.”

Yuta raises an eyebrow, looking down at his husband with unsure eyes. “That is what you want? Truly?”

Sicheng nods. “I want to feel your mouth on me, hot and wet. I want to come in your mouth.”

“Then I shall not deny you, darling.”

Yuta slinks down the bed, opening Sicheng’s legs wider and settling them around his frame. Sicheng is wrapped entirely around his husband, soft skin rubbing smoothly against Yuta’s sides as he trails his hands up and down Sicheng’s thighs, scratching his nails lightly against the skin. Sicheng shivers, letting himself sink into the comfort of the bed and Yuta’s touches, allowing himself to imagine a world where his husband caresses him out of love and adoration rather than a promise kept.

Sicheng feels a hand wrap around his cock and jumps, hips jutting off the bed in a snapping motion that scares him. Yuta’s other hand comes to Sicheng’s hip, lightly pushing it back onto the sheets, and when Sicheng looks down, Yuta has a wry smile on his face, eyes twinkling dangerously.

“I know I am not supposed to tell you what to do,” Yuta surmises slowly, “but I would like it if you stayed still during this part. It is not often that I have a cock down my throat.”

The imagery Yuta’s words inspire cause Sicheng to involuntarily moan, his hips bucking once more of their own account. He still himself, blushing fiercely as he gazes sheepishly at his husband, who offers up no more words, but smirks viciously, hand wrapped around his cock pumping slowly but surely, working him into a frenzy.

Sicheng whines, throwing his head back again, and it is when he cannot see his husband that he seals his lips around the tip of his dick. Sicheng cries out, toes twitching from the pleasure, but he keeps his hips still, forcing his limbs to lock in place around his husband. Yuta groans appreciatively around his cock, and Sicheng cannot resist looking down at him, watching as his mouth sinks lower and lower along the shaft of his cock, tongue running side to side all the way down.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sicheng pants out, reaching down to fist Yuta’s hair in one hand. He feels the course locks between his fingers, and it feels like an anchor, keeping him in reality as Yuta starts to suck, mouth tightening deliciously around his dick. “ _Oh, Yuta_.”

Yuta hums lowly, pulling back up to breathe for a moment before diving back down, sucking Sicheng’s soul out through his cock. 

“Please,” Sicheng whines, high and frustrated, his hand pushing and pulling against Yuta’s head, unable to decide which one he wants. “Please, please, please.”

“What?” Yuta asks innocently, pulling away from Sicheng’s cock completely, and Sicheng flushes bright red at the sight of Yuta’s lips, pink from sucking, connected to the tip of his dick by a heavy string of saliva, glistening in the candlelight. “What does my beloved need?”

Sicheng whimpers. “Your mouth, I need your mouth, _please_.” Sicheng can feel his hole, sickened up and quivering, but he willfully ignores it, knows Yuta would roll him over and fuck him in a minute if he asked for it. But this may be his only opportunity to ever have Yuta’s mouth on him in this way, and he is going to take advantage of it while he can.

“As you wish,” Yuta murmurs casually before sucking Sicheng down again, reigniting the fire in the pit of Sicheng’s stomach.

Yuta slurps loudly around his cock, making a show of it, and Sicheng’s stomach quivers at the sounds of Yuta’s head bobbing up and down quickly. Sicheng can hear slugging sounds from Yuta’s throat, and he knows it isn’t exactly pleasant to suck cock this quickly, but the pit inside of him burns hotter and hotter the longer Yuta continues. Quickly, Sicheng feels his orgasm approaching, his hips itching to thrust into Yuta’s mouth and meet him halfway, to have his husband really choke around his cock, coughing up saliva all over him and get him nice and wet before taking him hard and fast.

Sicheng keeps himself still as he imagines it, fisting Yuta’s hair and holding his head in place as he fucks his skull, cock jamming into Yuta’s mouth as fast as he releases him. He imagines coming all over Yuta’s face, licking it up afterwards and spitting it back into Yuta’s mouth, watching him swallow it down like Sicheng owns him. 

When Sicheng finally comes, Yuta’s mouth is sealed around Sicheng’s cock, and when he’s done, Yuta pulls off, opening his mouth and showing Sicheng his tongue, covered in a pearly white layer of come that has Sicheng’s entire body vibrating with pleasure. Sicheng watches as Yuta closes his mouth and makes a show of swallowing it, a pleased glint in his eye as he takes Sicheng in. Sicheng looks down, sees Yuta’s cock lying hard and heavy against his thigh, and he feels more slick pooling at his entrance, no doubt collecting against his thighs and smearing his skin.

“ _Unh_ ,” Sicheng moans out unintelligibly, reaching out and grasping onto Yuta’s hair, pulling his body upwards and forwards. For his part, Yuta was already moving up the bed, and his body allots with Sicheng’s perfectly, like puzzle pieces that match clinking together. “Please, fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Yuta taunts, feeling braver now that he's sucked away all of Sicheng’s confidence from earlier. “You want me to fuck you?”

Sicheng nods rapidly, already aware that Yuta will bend to his will, however weak it is. He wants his husband to know how badly he wants him. “Please,” he pleads again, his voice catching on an open whine, and he feels Yuta’s body above him shiver slightly.

Next is the familiar pressure of Yuta’s cock pressing against his hole, and Sicheng does his part to widen his legs and arch his back, presenting himself for his husband to take. He hears Yuta’s answering moan os appreciation and bends his body further, enunciating his soft curves and small frame, ribs poking out of his skin as he arches even further. He brings a hand up to run through his hair, mussing it up further, and the fire he feels underneath his skin burns hotter as he watches Yuta’s eyes travel up and down his body. He feels open, exposed, like a roasted pig waiting to be devoured, and Yuta is the hungry man who gets to bite into him first.

Yuta slams inside, thrusts hard and punching. Sicheng wails, spine bending further at the pressure and slight pain, but Yuta is giving him everything he wants right now, and it is not in his best interest to pretend otherwise. He feels the sharpness of Yuta’s jutting hip bones colliding with his inner thighs, the little meat he has there doing little to protect him from the pain. Yuta growls, hands curving around Sicheng’s hips to keep his body from scooting further and further up the bed with every thrust.

He pulls out, and before Sicheng can whine out a complaint, he’s being flipped over, upper body instantly collapsing onto the bed, back arched to the extreme with his ass sticking out for Yuta’s personal use. He slams back inside, jackhammering his hips in and out in quick succession, and Sicheng mumbles out a string of pleasantries, blindly praising Yuta’s cock and begging for more at the same time, spreading his legs out under him to give Yuta more to work with.

“I love fucking you,” Yuta pants out, caressing Sicheng’s ass gently with his hands, squeezing every so often and landing light spanks on each cheek that send tingles up Sicheng’s spine, pleasurable sparks that ignite his abdomen.

“Yeah?” Sicheng whimpers out breathlessly, voice punched out of him from the force of Yuta’s thrusts. “Do I feel good?”

Yuta moans loudly and spills inside of him, stilling entirely as he comes. Sicheng waits patiently for his husband to finish, and like clockwork, once Yuta’s panting slows down, a hand snakes around his stomach to fist his cock, tugging on it ruthlessly until Sicheng’s coming into Yuta hand, smearing all over his palm. Yuta brings his hand up to Sicheng’s mouth, and he licks his come up without a second thought. Absentmindedly, he thinks of how disgusting he feels, but he focuses solely on cleaning Yuta’s hand, and when he finishes, Yuta gives him a pat on the ass for his reward.

The two collapse onto the sheets together, Yuta spooning Sicheng from behind while his cock stays lodged inside of him. For as much as the two enjoyed themselves tonight, they still have one goal that they are failing at, and it is in both of their best interests to keep Yuta’s come inside of Sicheng for as long as possible.

“My prince,” Sicheng speaks quietly after a few minutes of peaceful silence. He’s in the mood to tease. “You did not answer my question earlier.”

Yuta shuffles around a little behind him. “What was the question?”

“I asked if I make you feel good, my prince,” Sicheng answers instantly.

Yuta hums, pulling Sicheng’s body closer to his. “I am never unsatisfied with you, darling. You always feels _exquisite_ underneath me.”

Sicheng’s body floods with warmth, partly from his sated state, and partly from his husband’s compliment. “Thank you, my prince,” he mumbles humbly. “You always make me feel good as well.”

“Do I?” Yuta asks teasingly, clearly trying to embarrass Sicheng.

Sicheng nods quickly, not letting himself be ashamed. “My husband takes perfect care of me. I could not ask for more.”

“It would be nice if I could give you a babe,” Yuta comments, and while his tone is casual, Sicheng detects the bitterness underneath it.

Hesitating, Sicheng responds. “I am not deluding myself into thinking our lack of heir is the fault of anyone but myself. I am failing as your consort, my prince. Please understand that I do not understand what I am doing wrong. I wish to have a babe inside of me more than anything else in the world.”

“I know,” Yuta replies diligently. “I do not blame you, darling. Personally, _I_ am not deluding myself into thinking blame falls solely onto you. Some couplings are simply faster at this than others.”

Sicheng hums, but says nothing. He isn’t entirely sure what Yuta wants to hear from him, and while he is happy that his husband does not blame him entirely for their lack of heir, the conversation is awkwardly charged and could take a wrong turn at any moment. He thinks of Taeil, Yuta’s older half-brother, who has already sired offspring. True, the mother is a lowly handmaiden, but having an heir is a strong enough base to make a claim for the throne, no matter who the child’s mother is. 

“I have a question,” Yuta continues on, ignorant of Sicheng’s inner turmoil.

“What is it?” Sicheng asks, silently wishing that he could just burrow into Yuta’s warmth and fall asleep, his sloppy and sated state of being dragging out the longer he stays awake.

“What happened to your envoy?”

Sicheng freezes, disbelief pouring through him. How did Yuta even notice Jungwoo’s absence? While Jungwoo has apparently been moved to Taeil’s service, he has been kept hidden quite well since he shared his news of pregnancy with Sicheng. Clearly, Taeil is hiding Jungwoo’s pregnancy, and for how angry Sicheng is that his handmaiden is pregnant before him, he will not put his former friend in danger by sharing his secret. What can he possibly tell him that does not alert Yuta to the fact that Taeil has fathered an heir?

“It is just that I know your envoy are your only friends here,” Yuta blunders on. “It must be a comfort to have them as company when you are so far away from home. I cannot imagine the pain of losing one.”

Sicheng changes the subject.

“Lord Moon is also my friend,” he speaks carefully, wincing when he feels Yuta tense around him at the very mention of his half-brother. “Though I have not spoken to him in awhile.”

“That is for the best,” Yuta growls, “it is not a good look for a person of your status to be associating with lords.”

“It is not a good look for the King’s oldest son to walk around the castle disguised as a lord instead of a prince, but nonetheless…” Sicheng lets his voice trail off, knowing he has done the damage necessary to keep Yuta’s mind off of Jungwoo. 

He knows it has worked when he feels Yuta’s body go absolutely rigid behind him, locking around him like a contraption of sorts. “And what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Come now, my prince,” Sicheng chides nastily, fully committing to being an awful person now that he has chosen that route. “You have been in politics long enough now to know what it means to have the _second_ son in the role of heir as opposed to the first.”

“Assume that I do not,” Yuta responds tersely, “what does it mean?”

Sicheng prepares to strike the deadly blow. “That the second son must be easier to control and manipulate.”

He hears Yuta’s breath stutter behind him, a shaky sort of gasp that strikes Sicheng in his heart. He does not want to cause his husband pain, no matter how mistreated and misused he feels in this castle. He needs allies, and it does not do well for him to turn his own husband against him in this manner. Yuta can always find another person to have an heir with, the King proved that with both Yuta and Taeil’s mothers.

“I am sure that I must have misunderstood you,” Yuta speaks coldly, the chill setting deep in Sicheng’s bones. “I know that a _consort_ of all people is not telling _me_ how easily manipulated I, a _prince_ , must be. No, not the man responsible for keeping his legs open long enough for me to cover your insides with my seed.”

Yuta spits out his title, consort, like a slur. Sicheng feels violated hearing it, knowing that Yuta’s venomous tone was by design. Sicheng is not meant to feel dignified in this conversation, he is nothing but a concubine for Yuta, a vessel for him to warm his cock inside.

“Between the two of us, _you_ are easily replaceable,” Yuta hisses. “I can impregnate anyone, and you are clearly not the option everyone in this castle thinks you are. Wide hips and big lips only get you so far, _darling_ , you have to work for the rest. You are proving to not be worth it, so I would be very careful with my words if I were you. You are not in any position to criticize me or my father, not when the Queen is so dissatisfied with your performance as consort that has begun to match me with women of the court so that I may have an heir. Remember, any child you and I have will not be a trophy of yours, but rather the kingdom’s.”

Sicheng’s eyes are full of tears, thick globs that slide down his cheeks and collect around the sides of his mouth. He avoids sniffling, not wanting to give Yuta the satisfaction of audibly crying in front of him, but he cannot hold back the physical evidence any longer. After his audience with the Queen, he doesn't know why he’s surprised that she has been arranging affairs for Yuta since their conception night, but hearing the reality makes him nauseous. 

“And should you fall pregnant, darling,” Yuta speaks casually now, as if he was having a discussion with a lowly maid, and perhaps that is what he thinks of Sicheng, perhaps the past hour meant nothing to him like it did for Sicheng, “you better pray it is a boy. Ensure that my fucking you every night is actually worth something.”

Before Sicheng can blink back any further tears, Yuta is tearing himself from Sicheng’s body, the cold air he leaves behind chilling Sicheng to the bone. He hears rustling behind him, and shortly afterwards, the door swings open, slamming shut a moment later. Sicheng jumps at the noise, then finds himself crawling underneath the sheets, cocooning himself in an attempt to get some of the warmth he felt when Yuta’s body was cradled around his. For as much as he detests his husband right now, nothing has ever felt safer and warmer than his arms around him, and the loss of it is devastating.

Sicheng curls his body into a ball, his weakened muscles screaming at the new position. He cannot bring himself to care as he cries himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment with your thoughts on this chapter if you want :) i'll hopefully be seeing you guys very soon with the next one!
> 
> EDIT: i have a new twitter account that's focused on my ao3, it's planetsuh, with a capital i instead of an l


	4. part four: spirits' past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE BACK!!! FINALLY!!! i hope you guys enjoy this one, it's an 11k+ doozy, but it's my baby and i love her.

part four: spirits' past

Taeil’s confrontation comes only days after Yuta left his marriage bed in a fit of quiet rage, at quite possibly the worst time for Sicheng himself.

Since his quick departure, Sicheng has not seen his husband, and a large part of him aches for his presence, even if it is unpleasant. It is quite surprising, learning just how attached he has become to Yuta’s presence at night, even if it is just for a quick fuck before sleeping on separate sides of the bed. Sicheng has spent the better part of the last few months opening his legs for Yuta to slip between, letting him fuck him in every position imaginable, making it interesting, making himself vulnerable, and the aftermath has always been worth the very dehumanizing nature of their nightly fucks. Yuta’s absence has now lasted three days longer than he usually disappears for, and Sicheng can only imagine the types of women he has been spending the night with instead, filling one of the many spare rooms in the castle with better, less opinionated bodies to fuck full of children to fill the Islands’ throne. 

Taeil catches Sicheng as he is turning the corner to his bedchambers, having just taken a quick walk around the nearby hallways to get some fresh air. He has kept Ten from changing his sheets the past few days, desperate to keep Yuta’s smell in the room, and it is starting to become difficult to stay in there for too long.

“Consort!” Taeil calls out, startling Sicheng from his absent reverie. He whips around, finding himself face to face with a pink-faced Taeil, whose eyes are just as expressive as always. “I have been meaning to have an audience with you for days now.”

“Lord Moon,” Sicheng bows his head respectfully, “I am sorry to have kept you waiting for me.”

Taeil smiles ruefully. “It is always worth the wait with you, Sicheng.”

If Sicheng’s heart skips a beat upon hearing his name from Taeil’s lips, he says nothing on the topic, staring ahead resolutely with a carefully blank look on his face.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” Sicheng asks politely.

“I think you know what I mean to speak with you about,” Taeil replies, tone just as even, but Sicheng spots the beginnings of a very frustrated frown making its way onto Taeil’s face.

Sicheng cocks his head in faux confusion, willing himself not to succumb to his emotions, heightened in the presence of someone he should be able to call friend, but cannot. “I am sure I do not know what you mean.”

“Sicheng—“ Taeil cuts himself off with a fitful sigh. Looking around them, he finds the hallway to be conveniently empty, then he reaches out and hooks his fingers around Sicheng’s thin wrist, dragging him away from his bedchambers and down a much narrower hall, where Sicheng has never been before for fear of being suspected of snooping. “We are concealed in here,” Taeil says then, breath fanning over Sicheng’s face from their close contact. “Do speak candidly now.”

“Lord Moon,” Sicheng says carefully, “I do not know what you want to hear me say. For what should I be speaking candidly?”

Taeil huffs and it hits Sicheng’s wave in the form of a puff of air, surprising him. “You _know_ what!” Taeil hisses out, finally letting some anger seep to the exterior. “You removed Jungwoo from your envoy.”

Sicheng’s spine straightens out of its own accord. “That I did.”

“And you do not see any problem with that?” Taeil asks. “None at all?”

“Why, Lord Moon, my handmaiden Jungwoo has broken his vow of celibacy,” Sicheng speaks slowly, intently, like reading from a scroll. “It is a sacred vow only a select few faeries are given the _honor_ to make before our gods and our ancestors. His vow was to serve and honor faithfully, and he let himself stray. I am well within my rights to relive myself of him as a result.”

“But Sicheng—“ Taeil stops again, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead with the tips of his fingers, smoothing away what must be a grueling headache to reveal his weakness so openly in front of company. Then again, Taeil never did have a problem with showing his true emotions, let alone in front of Sicheng. “It is _Jungwoo_. He is ardent and true, he is faithful. You have broken his heart in letting him go, I know you know this.”

“I must abide by the ways of my people,” Sicheng replies dutifully.

“ _I_ am your people!” Taeil nearly cries, closing his mouth tightly and waiting a moment, proceeding after he hears no sounds from the main hallway. “You are no longer Prince Sicheng of the Southern Forest. You are Prince consort to Prince Yuta of the Islands. You do not serve your homeland any longer, and I am _sorry_ for how that displeases you, but this vow that Jungwoo made? This promise to your gods? It is worth nothing here. You have ripped him of the only two people he knows from his past, and I know you of all people must understand how painful that is for him.”

Sicheng breathes deeply, feeling tears well in his eyes. Because, deep down, Sicheng knows that he would give next to anything to have Jungwoo back with him, as a part of his envoy, his daily routine. He would love to have Jungwoo awaken him gently in the mornings, apply his makeup after his bath, help him into his heavy clothing with complicated fastenings. Sicheng misses him, misses his presence during his day to day, but he cannot bring him back. Whether Sicheng believes in them or not, the Southern Forest has gods, and Jungwoo made a vow to them that he has now broken. Sicheng is desperate to keep his connection to the Southern Forest, and as long as Jungwoo, who blatantly disrespects his vows, is around him, he no longer feels that connection.

“Do you plan to use your child with Jungwoo as an advantage?” Sicheng asks suddenly.

Taeil’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Are you intending to stake a claim for the Islands’ throne using your child—your _heir_ —as a means to do it?” Sicheng clarifies.

“No!” Taeil gasps. “I would never! It is treason, not to mention cruel to the child and to Jungwoo. I would never do such a thing.”

Sicheng leans close to Taeil, letting his breath fan over _his_ face in turn. He intends to make this message sink in, leaving no room for interpretation.

“Then there is absolutely no reason for me to be concerned with your child’s well-being or the mother’s.”

Sicheng leaves the cramped hallway then, Taeil’s resounding gasp shaking Sicheng down to the core. He walks quickly, his movements making little noise due to his shoes and their thin fabric. Rounding the corner, Sicheng all but collapses against the wall, breathing heavily and pushing back tears.

“I was beginning to wonder when I might see you again.”

Sicheng gasps and looks over, gulping as Taeyong ascends closer to him, mirth swimming behind his calculating eyes. He has not held an audience with Taeyong since he was summoned for tea and accidentally heard gossip about a secret war brewing between the Southern Forest and the Islands. Keeping to himself seemed like the best course of action after such news. 

Now, as he and Ten walk together from one of the many parlors this castle holds, Sicheng having just ended his lesson in the Islands’ royal etiquette, he feels sequestered by Taeyong, and wonders, in a fit of paranoia, if the faerie has been following him around.

“I was not hiding,” Sicheng says, hardly a lie, though not necessarily the truth either.

Taeyong’s eyebrow quirks upwards, but he leaves the matter be. “Would you like to join me for some tea? We surely have a _lot_ to catch up on.”

Sicheng looks over to Ten, whose expression betrays nothing. His handmaiden is stoic and composed, the complete opposite of his normal demeanor, and no doubt a result of Jungwoo’s relief from Sicheng’s staff.

“Tea would be lovely,” Sicheng responds finally, tone very carefully cordial, given his audience. 

Taeyong’s expression brightens. “Excellent! Shall we walk to the tea room together? I had one set aside for this afternoon, what a wonderful coincidence that I ran into you before I could make my way over there.”

“Indeed,” Sicheng replies, for lack of a better answer, sending Ten one last look of confusion before following Taeyong down the hall, abandoning his handmaiden, as Taeyong has his own accompanying him. “I have not been able to sit down and chat with, well, anyone really. This will be a nice change up.”

“Oh, will it not?” Taeyong agrees, looking back over his shoulder with a cheerful smile.

The two enter the tea room, Taeyong’s handmaiden bowing slightly before making herself scarce. Moments later, several servants billow into the room, each carrying a tray. Pots and mugs are set across the table, carrying tea, sugar cubes, honey, lemon slices and biscuits of differing colors and flavors. Sicheng’s head throbs from the stress that comes along with being in Taeyong’s company, but his mouth waters at the thought of having a nice, sweet cup of tea and a couple of perfectly baked biscuits to hold him over until dinner.

“Help yourself,” Taeyong gestures to the table, “I myself never have the servants dish out the proportions in my tea. They never get it right.”

Sicheng nods, tentatively picking up his cup and waiting for Taeyong to finish pouring out his tea, taking the pot from him afterwards and pouring out his own. While Taeyong opts to place one sugar cube and two lemon slices into his tea, Sicheng leaves his cup a quarter empty, filling the rest with honey and grabbing three sugar cubes, daintily placing his tea back down so that he can stir in his additives with the tiny serving spoon placed down beside him.

“So,” Taeyong starts, tone carefully devoid of all mischief, “how have things been going with your marriage?”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow. The court talks, and Sicheng has no doubt that the longer Yuta stays away from their marriage bed, the louder the gossip becomes, traveling faster between even the lowly cooks and servants living beside the kennels for the castle guard dogs. 

“As well as to be expected,” Sicheng replies carefully.

Taeyong hums. “Yes, the first few months of a marriage is the hardest, particularly for arranged couplings. My Youngho and I did not speak to each other for the first six months outside of cordial greetings when we were expected to be seen together in public.”

Sicheng startles. “Six months?” he asks incredulously. “How did you manage to get away with that?”

“Oh, it was not entirely my doing, mind you,” Taeyong says, chuckling lightly, “though I suppose our avoidance of each other was made easier given that we were not expected to immediately supply an heir upon getting married.”

Sicheng deflates. “Yes, I suppose that _would_ make things easier on a coupling.”

In a rare bout of seriousness, Taeyong leans forward, all signs of smiles and chuckles gone. “Dear consort,” he begins, “I know things have not been easy on you. Of course, you know that the entire castle knows now of the Queen’s handling of Prince Yuta’s affairs behind your back. I cannot imagine how humiliated you must feel. Just know, there are plenty of people in this castle, myself included, that do not measure the success of a consort by their fertility or their quickness to fall pregnant. In fact, I think it makes one look rather… _trashy_ I should say, to have a babe so soon after the ceremony.”

“Thank you for the kind words,” Sicheng replies sincerely, “and I hope this does not offend you, but they do not mean much.”

Taeyong smiles ruefully. “I understand.”

Sicheng picks up his cup, taking small sips, but the sweet tea he was once excited about now coats his tongue too thickly, making him quickly feel nauseous.

“Have you, by chance, given any thought to the conversation you accidentally walked in on?”

Once again, Sicheng is stunned, needing to put his cup down to avoid dropping it and letting it smash on the ground.

“No,” he replies bluntly, though it is not entirely true, “I have not.”

Taeyong smirks. “I somehow doubt that, consort.”

“Pardon me, Seo,” Sicheng interjects quickly, “but I do not know what I have done to garner such a mistrusting opinion. I became privy to a conversation I knew I should not have been a part of, but rather than galavant about the castle spreading information of what can only be described as plans of a _coup_ , I have remained gracious and silent on the matter. I believe that should deem me a trustworthy person, one that should be believed.”

There is a pause, but before Sicheng can worry about overstepping, Taeyong’s carefully blank expression molds into that of a kind smile, saccharine and sickly sweet in its nature.

“Certainly,” Taeyong says all too kindly. “I apologize, consort. I hope I have not offended you with my comments.”

“You have not,” Sicheng responds delicately. “You may proceed.”

Taeyong dips his head as a sign of gratitude, which Sicheng interprets with a grain of salt. It is becoming more and more abundantly clear that any gesture on Taeyong’s part cannot be seen as genuine at the surface level. Sicheng’s words have certainly sparked fear in the other faerie—the very idea of Sicheng choosing to run to his husband and share his knowledge of Taeyong and Doyoung’s correspondence is grounds for trials of treason for both of them. Undoubtedly, Taeyong would receive a much harsher sentence, given his higher status within the court, than Doyoung, a mere pleasure faerie hired for company. Sicheng is sure that Taeyong anticipated Sicheng to be a pushover of sorts, and knowing the reality, that Sicheng holds far more cards then Taeyong could have ever wished, is a terrifying thought for a faerie planning on exposing the secret dealings of the Islands. 

“Well,” Taeyong begins carefully, “you should know that Doyoung has been pestering me to receive an audience with you.”

“Why would Doyoung want an audience with me?” Sicheng asks.

Taeyong arches an eyebrow. “Surely you know?” At Sicheng’s silence, Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Of course you do not know. It is to ensure that you do not run amok spilling trade secrets at the drop of a hat. It is also…”

As Taeyong lets himself trail off, Sicheng grows even more curious. “It is also…what?”

Taeyong locks eyes with Sicheng and sighs, something akin to resignation settling in his expression.

“Doyoung wishes to know your position on this issue. He wishes to ask you to join us.”

“Oh,” Sicheng replies, dumbstruck. “Me?”

Taeyong’s cheeks pink with fury. “Is there anyone else in this room, consort?”

Ignoring the jab, Sicheng sits back in his chair, eyes wide. “Why me? What could I possibly have to offer?”

“Please do not tell me you are _this_ dense,” Taeyong groans. “I knew from the beginning you were not as smart or regal as everyone viewed you, but this is a stretch, even for you. Honestly, did the Southern Forest teach you nothing?”

Sicheng slams a fist down on the table, startling Taeyong out of his relaxed posture, slumped against his chair. “Do _not_ speak of the Southern Forest with anything less than admiration and awe,” Sicheng spits. “That is my _home._ They taught me _everything_ I know. I apologize if my understanding of international coups is not up to your standards, but do not _ever_ insult my home _again_.”

Taeyong raises his hands as a show of surrender, but Sicheng can hardly see past his anger. “I apologize,” he says, but Sicheng cannot hear any sincerity. “Clearly I have misspoke."

“Clearly,” Sicheng repeats, tone deadly.

Sicheng is so tired of being underestimated. True, he has yet to fall pregnant, but how is that solely his fault? He may have a faulty uterus, but his husband may have a faulty cock for all the Queen or any other critic knows. Instead, the blame for his lack of child falls on him. Sicheng would give anything to have a babe of his own, a beautiful little one to call his own, the crowned pride and joy of the Islands. He would love to pop multiple babes out and fulfill his destiny as consort. He would give anything to have everyone out of his business, to satisfy Yuta and the Queen and the royal advisors who are, without a doubt, frothing at the mouth looking for a reason to oust Yuta from the throne and take his place.

There is another part of Sicheng that knows that, as a consort and, more specifically, as a breeder, he will always be underestimated, overlooked and unappreciated. Such is the life of a breeder. Even in the Southern Forest, Sicheng had very little social standing outside of his connection to the King and Princes, regardless of the fact that they were his father and older brothers. In faerie society, breeders are seen as less than, an anatomical marvel, yes, but not an equal. Sicheng has always known that his presence will always be that of one with less social standing than his peers, but he has still always longed for respect. It was a possibility in the Southern Forest, but in the Islands, it is nearly impossible.

Taeyong has garnered a sliver of respect from his human associates in the Islands’ court, though Sicheng knows this is because of his ruthless and cutthroat nature. Sicheng, while longing for just a fraction of the respect Taeyong has, is not willing to turn into a stone cold bitch to do it. Taeyong may be respected, but he has no real allies, no one to call a close friend. Sicheng doubts his own husband trusts him very much. While Sicheng wants respect, he would also very much like to be well-liked. Nothing is more important in mutual respect than mutual likeness, at least to Sicheng.

Perhaps that makes him naive and stupid, to hope and dream for the people in the Islands to accept him with open arms and to like him, but Sicheng cannot help but long to be liked alongside of respected. He has Ten and he used to have Jungwoo, but he wants more. 

“Now I shall ask again,” Sicheng finally continues, after letting Taeyong fester in uncomfortable silence and his thoughts for several minutes, casually sipping tea while the other’s eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out of their meeting without seeming terribly rude. “Why would Doyoung want to offer _me_ a position in your…plans?”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow, a snark comment clearly on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back. “You are the future King’s consort. He may have _other dealings_ , but _you_ are the warm body he comes back to every night. He fucks you full every night, he must be _speaking_ to you as well, is he not?”

“The goings on of my marriage bed, quite frankly, are none of your business, Seo,” Sicheng gripes, “and they are certainly not the business of a random escort faerie.”

“Yes, consort, I know,” Taeyong smiles placidly, tone intuitively more polite than usual. “I understand how my words come across but please, do not perceive them as I know you must be. I do not mean to offend you, nor do I mean to assume anything about your growing relationship with the Prince. That is purely between you and him and no one else, or at least, it _should_ be. I was merely speaking in the hypothetical.”

Sicheng shrugs, a sign of tentative forgiveness, and a sign for Taeyong to continue.

“You are close with the Prince,” Taeyong’s face is serious, stern, but not antagonistically so. “That much is true. Whether it be physical or emotional closeness, you are close nonetheless. You are meant to bear his children, be his partner for the rest of your life, whisper your judgements into his ear, whether he listens to them or not. Such is the job of a consort. In short, you have…influence over the Prince.”

Scoffing, Sicheng sits back in disbelief. “I do not know what you or Doyoung have heard that leads you to believe that I have any sort of influence over Prince Yuta, but I can assure, I do not.”

“You will,” Taeyong contests, “as the two of you grow closer, your influence grows, as is the way of all couplings. That much is undeniable.”

“Is this the case between you and Lord Youngho?” Sicheng asks, partially in an attempt to fend off Taeyong, but in curiosity as well. Perhaps Sicheng also intends to find out if Taeyong has managed to secure his husband’s loyalty in the upcoming revolt against the Islands’ dealings of faeries. As a current member of the Council, Sicheng has no doubt that Lord Youngho would have at least some knowledge of the illegal activity.

Taeyong nods solemnly, eyes growing slightly fond at the thought of his husband. “In no way are Lord Youngho and I in love,” he speaks softly, “but he has become one of my closest confidants since leaving the Ports. The reverse is true for him. We influence each others’ opinions, whether it be what the other wears in the mornings, what we eat for breakfast, or how he votes on certain laws being pushed by members of the Council.”

“And you believe the same will hold true for Prince Yuta and I?” Sicheng warily eyes Taeyong, as if seeing him in a new light.

“Yes, I do,” Taeyong asserts. “You do not even realize it happening, and before you know it, the young Prince will be wrapped around your littlest finger.”

“So you wish to capitalize off of that?” Sicheng asks. “Use my growing connection to my husband to…what? Pass legislation against the kidnappings? Expose the crown for their crimes against the Forest and the Ports?”

Taeyong smiles ruefully. “No, consort. I, nor Doyoung, wish to do any of those things.”

“Then what?” Sicheng blinks.

“We intend to overthrow the Kims,” Taeyong says, and Sicheng thinks he has never heard the other speak with such clarity before. “And you are the key to doing so.”

***

Jung Jaehyun, son of the most respected member of the Islands’ Royal Council, is someone that, ultimately, Sicheng meets completely on accident.

Taeyong’s words, while certainly working to shake Sicheng to the core, ultimately offer no real change to Sicheng’s daily routine. As it stands, he and Yuta are nowhere near close enough to becoming the kind of coupling that confide in each other about their days, moaning about the unfair nature of life and circumstance. He has yet to have any real influence over Yuta, and Taeyong knows it. Therefore, nothing Taeyong has said thus far is of any real substance. Is it terrifying? Absolutely. Does it have any real chance of actually happening? Not in the slightest.

So while Sicheng stews with the thought of the current monarchy ruling the Islands being overthrown, he has been told to lay low and to, if possible, introduce himself to the son of Lord Jung. Lord Jung, of course, being the single most influential member of the Islands’ council. The deciding vote for many pieces of legislature brought to their attention, and whose opinion sways far too many of his fellow council members in times of split decisions. He is said to even have the royal family in his pocket, though that cannot be known for certain, and even if it were true, it certainly does not apply to the young Prince, who cannot be bothered to stay in a room with the man for too long.

Nevertheless, Sicheng’s brush with the son of the powerful warlord is entirely coincidental, though that is what Sicheng tells himself to get over how completely and utterly outlandish it is that they should meet in these circumstances.

Sicheng leaves dinner, accompanied by Yuta, as is the understanding the two have come to after that fateful night. As they round the corner, Sicheng’s body collides with another, causing him to stumble over his own feet and nearly fall to the ground had Yuta not been there to keep him from completely losing his balance.

“Gods above!” Sicheng cries out instinctively, dusting off his robes as he looks forward at his roadblock, a lean but muscular man with dark hair that falls over his forehead and sharp eyes that follow Sicheng with obvious curiosity. His stance is that of a powerful man, and Sicheng instantly regrets his outburst, looking to Yuta for guidance. His husband, for his part, sneers abhorrently at the intruder, making Sicheng feel much more comfortable with his initial reaction.

“Jung,” Yuta spits out ferociously. 

Sicheng’s eyes widen, turning back to look at the man with a new lens. This is obviously Lord Jung’s son, and just as Sicheng puts the pieces together, he sees Doyoung about an arm’s length behind Jung’s son, narrow eyes following Yuta’s movements before locking on Sicheng, slitting even further upon seeing him.

“Nakamoto!” Jaehyun cries out, tone entirely pleasant and not fooling Sicheng in the slightest. Dimples emerge out of both of Jaehyun’s cheeks, but Sicheng can tell his smile is saccharine and fake.”Fancy running into you at this hour? Do you not have business to attend to?”

Yuta sneers. “My business after hours is certainly _none_ of your concern.”

“I see,” Jaehyun hums, smirking delightfully as his eyes trail away from Yuta, only to light up when they land on Sicheng. “Is this your beautiful bride? I must say, I was not aware the Southern Forest could produce such beautiful creatures, but our breeders certainly put it into perspective, do they not?”

Sicheng sees Doyoung tense behind Jaehyun. He finds himself tensing too, that word leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He also sees Yuta’s eyes trail over Doyoung, as if just now noticing him, his expression thoughtful, but not giving away too much.

“I suppose,” Yuta replies evenly, tone giving nothing away, but Sicheng feels the arm he is clutching tense and contract, as if he is restraining himself.

“You are Sicheng, correct?” Jaehyun asks, ignoring Yuta’s response and turning his attention completely towards Sicheng. 

Sicheng straightens out his posture, thrown off by the direct address. “Yes, I am,” he replies graciously, bowing his head. “And you are the son of Lord Jung?”

“Indeed!” Jaehyun smiles, though Sicheng notices he does not bow his head in response. “Soon to be a lord myself, if all goes well.”

“Congratulations, sir,” Sicheng says.

Jaehyun’s smile widens. “Thank you very much.” He steps closer to Sicheng, instantly crowding his space and leaving him without much room to breath any air that Jaehyun has not already breathed. He sees Yuta tensing beside him, jaw clicking in and out of place, but he does nothing, watching carefully for the slightest misstep.

“How does it feel to be the first failed consort of the Islands’ palace?” Jaehyun breathes, hot air wafting over Sicheng’s face and causing his stomach to roll unpleasantly, his words only adding to it. “I should think you would be too embarrassed to roam these halls, and yet I hear of your whereabouts _constantly_. Are you that good of a fuck? Shall I see what the fuss is all about?”

“That is _enough_ ,” Yuta growls, tearing Sicheng away from Jaehyun’s clutches. Sicheng goes easily, frightened and confused by Jaehyun’s words, and he allows Yuta to all but pull him down the hallway, marching out of Jaehyun and Doyoung’s sights. 

The familiar sight of the door to their bedchambers has Sicheng sighing with relief, sagging against Yuta in a rare fit of vulnerability. Jaehyun’s words have shaken him, and he hopes and prays to every god that Yuta does not ask about them. He does not entirely know what he would say.

Yuta yanks the door open, shoving Sicheng inside of the bedroom and slamming it shut, Sicheng jumping at the sound. 

“What did he say to you?” Yuta all but bellows. Sicheng finds himself backing up towards the bed as Yuta descends on him, knees buckling when his legs hit the bed and body collapsing on top of the sheets.

He curls his fingers around the sheets in fear. “I-I am n-not sure you w-would want m-me to try and analyze what h-he was t-trying to say, m-my Prince,” Sicheng whimpers, cringing every time he stutters over his words.

Yuta’s eyes flash dangerously. “Do _not_ play coy with me, Sicheng. _What did he say_?”

“H-he—“ Sicheng hiccups, tension broiling unpleasantly in his stomach, “he asked if he should _f-fuck_ me, see what all of the f-fuss is about.”

There is a moment—where nothing happens, and Sicheng thinks that, perhaps, Yuta will just leave it alone. Later, he will curse himself for his naivety. 

In a split second, Yuta has a side table by their plush sitting furniture upturned, all of its contents smashing against the floor. The uproar is too loud for Sicheng to handle, so he covers his ears, watching as most of the little glass trinkets on top of the table smash to bits. Yuta stands beside the table, panting heavily, before turning his gaze back over to Sicheng. Sicheng can still see the fire in his husband’s eyes, and he hates himself for the flick of arousal that curls around his stomach, lurching and sending chills up his spine.

“You are not his to fuck,” Yuta growls, marching over to Sicheng and grabbing his hips in a vice-like grip.

Sicheng shakes his head. “I know, my Prince.” His words are whispered and shaky, his nerves showing despite not wanting them to.

Yuta’s jaw clenches. “You are _mine_. No one else can have you.”

Taking a risk, Sicheng reaches out with shaking hands to slide them over Yuta’s chest and around his shoulders, finger drumming lightly against Yuta’s back as a slight reassurance. He chances a small smile, blinking in relief at the way Yuta’s posture relaxes ever so slightly, molding himself closer to Sicheng’s frame.

“Mine,” Yuta purrs once again, face hovering right in front of Sicheng’s. He watches as Yuta’s tongue flicks out to lick his bottom lip, holding back a whine at the look in Yuta’s eyes. “Yes?”

Sicheng’s head bobs of its own accord. He nearly strains his neck from the force of it, but he makes sure his nod is aggressive enough for the message to get across. “Yes, my Prince,” he breathes, “I am yours.”

Yuta hums, drawing it out and making it sound more like a moan, the first Sicheng has heard from him since they first laid together. Now, as Yuta descends towards Sicheng’s mouth, he wonders if his husband will finally let go and allow him to hear his noises in their full capacity. He imagines what Yuta will sound like, unabashed and unashamed, and he finds himself swallowing down a moan of his own as Yuta claims his mouth with his.

Immediately, it is clear who is in charge. Granted, Sicheng is never in charge when it comes to he and Yuta’s couplings, but Yuta makes clear this time that there is no room for Sicheng to take any semblance of control. He licks over Sicheng’s lips, biting them whenever he sees fit, and Sicheng swears that he draws blood at some point.

“Mine,” Yuta grunts as he pulls away and shoves Sicheng onto the bed, watching him bounce and flail around on the soft top with amusement in his eyes. Sicheng knows the drill by now, and he spreads his legs wide, creating a slot for Yuta to fit his body into. He does, climbing overtop Sicheng and framing his head with his hands, leaning over and kissing him again.

He sucks at Sicheng’s lips harshly. Sicheng arches off the bed, chasing the feeling and wanting Yuta closer, but his husband brings a hand to his chest and shoves him back down to lie flat on his back. Right, absolutely no control. Sicheng lets Yuta play with his body, sticking a thigh between Sicheng’s legs and rutting slightly, giving Sicheng just a little bit of pressure before drawing away, grinning madly when Sicheng whines and throws his head back in frustration. He rips open Sicheng’s shirt—a cream one made of thin fabrics—and brings a hand down to tweak one of Sicheng’s nipples, watching it pebble and harden under his ministrations, then leaning down to lick at it teasingly when he deems it necessary. Sicheng is a plaything for Yuta to experiment with as he sees fit, and as degrading as it might be, it is also the first time Yuta has taken the time to learn just what makes Sicheng’s body writhe with pleasure.

As Yuta plays around with Sicheng’s body, Sicheng cannot help but notice that Yuta has absolutely no regard for his own pleasure, focusing solely on the possibility of making Sicheng shake and cry out when he puts pressure on this one spot below Sicheng’s neck or sucks Sicheng’s left nipple with all his might while pressing a palm into Sicheng’s bulge simultaneously. It is like Yuta’s participating in a lesson in how to make Sicheng sexually frustrated, pulling his strings like a puppeteer. As frustrating or humiliating as Sicheng may find it, at the end of the day, it is the most care Yuta has put into making Sicheng feel good since they met.

“Mine to tease,” Yuta whispers after he releases Sicheng’s nipple from his mouth, “mine to fuck.”

After that, it is a blur. Sicheng’s clothes are ripped away from his body, tossed carelessly behind Yuta as he kneels above him, observing him in his naked form with a newfound appreciation. Or at least, that is how Sicheng imagines it.

Yuta has Sicheng lying spread eagle on the bed, arms hooked around each of his own legs to pull them up and out of Yuta’s way. It is animalistic, the way Yuta fucks into Sicheng, as if he has lost control over himself. Sicheng enjoys every second of it thought, body trying to twist out and away from Yuta’s grasp, causing Yuta to just grab onto him tighter, fuck into him harder. Sicheng nearly gags on his own spit, overwhelming himself as Yuta jackhammers into him with a newfound intensity every time.

“Tell me, who do you belong to?” Yuta asks, sounding out of breath but no less powerful than when he had Sicheng in his clutches before clothes started coming off.

Sicheng chokes on a moan, legs falling open even further despite the burn in his thighs. He throws his head back, showing off the curve of his smooth neck, blemished by Yuta’s teeth and tongue. “You, my Prince.”

“Who owns you?” Yuta asks quickly after that. He pulls out of Sicheng and pushes his legs together, pushing back into him with both legs held in his hands. It adds more friction for Yuta and he groans with satisfaction, thrusting slightly harder than he was already.

“Oh!” Sicheng gasps on a particularly hard thrust that hits his sweet spot inside of him. “You, my Prince! You own me!”

Yuta moans, throwing a leg over each of his shoulders, hands returning to Sicheng’s hips and squeezing tightly. “How do you like being owned by me, my love?”

Sicheng quivers at his husband’s deep voice and sweet words, flooding over him like syrup. “I love it, my Prince,” he murmurs shakily, voice catching on a moan every so often. Yuta punches them out of him, his thrusts full of intent. Sicheng feels himself sinking deeper into the pillows, feeling bliss wash over him like a nice, warm bath.

“Hm?” Yuta hums, slowing his thrusts down to a deliberate grind. Sicheng wants to whine, frustrated, but he realizes that Yuta is hitting his spot directly now, just a constant pressure against it that causes his skin to prickle with goosebumps and his cock to start leaking. “Say it again. How does my love feel about being owned by me? How does he like it?”

“He loves it,” Sicheng babbles, a foolish hand reaching down to curl around his pitiful, neglected cock only to have it slapped away, as he knew it would be. It was futile, but he had to try. “He loves it so _so_ much, my Prince.”

“How much?” Yuta questions, power hungry and nearly desperate. “Tell me, how much does my beautiful consort love my ownership, hm? What would he change?”

Sicheng whimpers loudly, tears falling from his eyes and down his cheeks. “Nuh-nothing!” he moans out. “H-he would never change a-a thing! H-he l-loves it so m-much!”

“Ah,” Yuta responds, as if coming to a realization. Sicheng feels fingers swiping under his eyes, wiping away his tears, but the second those fingers leave, new tears replace them. He know he must look a mess, lips bitten raw and bright red from the force of of it, nipples abused and hard, cock leaking, an angry bright pink color for Yuta to admire. Sicheng feels ridiculous, out of his mind with pleasure and fucked dumb by his husband, but he knows this is exactly where Yuta wants him right now—right where he needs him to be.

“And would you ever,” Yuta strokes the side of Sicheng’s face lightly, soothingly almost, “ _ever_ ,” he cups Sicheng’s chin, forcing his face to angle upwards so that he is looking directly into Yuta’s eyes, “let another man fuck you?”

Sicheng shakes his head immediately, new tears springing to his eyes just at the thought. “No, my Prince!” he blubbers, sounding small. “I would never! Only you! It has only ever been you, my Prince!”

Yuta pushes his cock inside of him roughly, hips working quickly once again. There is a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and Sicheng knows he has pleased him thoroughly. “My love,” Yuta croons, and Sicheng flushes at the name, adorning the title with grace as Yuta continues fucking into him roughly.

When Yuta finally comes, Sicheng has already, pleasure exploding out of him uncontrollably. He is sated and sloppy against the bedsheets, lying pliant as Yuta gets his fill. He feels Yuta’s come filling him up, planting seeds that Sicheng hopes and prays will eventually sprout into a babe of their own, not only for the sake of the Islands and the Queen, but the two of them as well. More and more, Sicheng thinks of what he and Yuta’s babe will look like, what they will grow into. Will they look more like a human or a faerie? Will they be a breeder, like Sicheng, or more like their father in that sense? Will Sicheng be allowed to tuck them in at night, or will the night nurses take care of that? Just how much will Sicheng see his babe? How much will Yuta?

The last question darkens Sicheng’s mood, so he pushes it to the back of his mind, wrapping himself around Yuta and clinging to him like a vice, still in a bubbly headspace from earlier.

“My love,” Yuta sighs, wrapping his arms around Sicheng. “My love, how did you enjoy that? I was not too rough, was I?”

Sicheng seeks out Yuta’s warmth further, body buzzing and alight with pleasure at Yuta’s continued niceties. Part of him wonders when it will run out, but the larger, more exhausted part allows himself to wash in it, soak it up for as long as he has it. “It was perfect, my Prince,” he mumbles sleepily into Yuta’s skin. “As it always is.”

“Is it, truly?” Yuta asks, sounding more amused than anything else. “My love likes how I fuck him?”

“Yes, my Prince,” Sicheng replies breathily. Feeling daring, he leans forward the extra inch and plants a light, wet kiss on Yuta’s collarbone. He hears Yuta suck in an uneven breath and sighs with relief, his legs tightening around Yuta’s and pulling him in further. “I love the way you fuck me.”

Yuta hums, the vibrations settling Sicheng further into a sleep-sated buzz. “I love the way you take it, my love.”

Maybe it is the exhaustion or the warmth filling Sicheng chest in this moment, cuddled up to Yuta with absolutely no regard for how they will be in the morning. Maybe it was everything said before Yuta stripped him of his clothes and fucked him raw, rattling his teeth and setting an ache deep into his bones. Either way, Sicheng feels light and airy, as if nothing can touch him, and maybe that is why he says what he says.

“I love you,” Sicheng whispers warmly, then promptly falls asleep before he has a chance to hear what his husband has to say about it.

***

Grief can manifest in the most interesting of ways. This is something Sicheng has discovered for himself over the years.

Sicheng was nine when his mother disappeared into the ocean’s vicious mouth, never to be seen or heard from again. He was nine when her envoy arrived back from the Ports—where she had been negotiating a better trade agreement, of all things—without her, sullen looks on their faces and downcast, pink-rimmed eyes. Sicheng remembers the look on his father’s face, on his older brothers’, remembers being shielded from the news by his nurses and caretakers until he was no longer satisfied with their vague, mindless answers for where his mother had gone to for so long.

Her funeral had been bleak, even a nine year old Sicheng had known that. Everyone donned black for the event, and a sick part of Sicheng’s mind told him to be happy that it was so cold out. It meant that he would not be as uncomfortable wearing thick, black clothes as he would have been had his mother died in the summertime.

His father was already well on his way to withdrawing in on himself, a state he would remain in for as long as Sicheng would know him, and he had staunchly refused to speak to any of his three sons at all during the procession. Sicheng’s older brothers resolutely held their heads high, each cradling one of Sicheng’s hands in theirs in hopes of possibly absorbing some of his grief for their own, to shield some of his pain. Until the physical examination performed on Sicheng’s thirteenth birthday proved he was a breeder, his brothers were quite close to him, protecting him from evil and uplifting the good in his life. This was one of those moments where he needed to be protected.

Sicheng remembers seeing so many faces he never had before, mostly old with age, all crying. He remembers not crying much because he did not entirely understand what was happening in the first place. He knew his mother was gone, never coming back, but the reality had not yet set in. It would not set in for weeks afterward, until Sicheng’s oldest brother celebrated his fifteenth birthday without their mother there to lead the charge in present opening.

Every so often, Sicheng is flooded with the staunch realization that his mother is dead. Even now that she is long gone, passed onto new realms with gods that will take care of her for the rest of her days, Sicheng still feels that pain every so often. Once a year, at the least, on the anniversary of his mother’s death—that fateful day when her envoy returned empty handed, both in terms of a trade deal and the Queen of the Southern Forest.

On these days, Sicheng crawls into bed, feeling like his body is rotting from the inside out. He burrows under the covers and imagines a world where his mother is still here, lying behind him and cradling his head in her arms, whispering stories of bravery and dalliance or simply soothing his nightmares away with a song about the moon. Sicheng would shiver in her arms, letting her warm words wash over him before he was sent back to slumber, and on the anniversary of her envoy’s return, he imagines himself back in that place.

_“Sicheng, my beautiful boy,” Sicheng’s mother says softly, nimble fingers carding through long, dark hair that is perhaps too long these days. “You must not let the monsters frighten you. For fear is power to these monsters, and if you dare show them fear, they will devour you.”_

_Sniffling, Sicheng burrows his head in his mother’s stomach, his entire frame shaking like a leaf. “But how do I hide my fear, mother?” he wails. “How do I not show them how I truly feel?”_

_His mother sighs wistfully, tugging at Sicheng’s hair in a playful gesture._

_“My darling son,” she starts, “you are brave in your own right—far too much for these pitiful monsters to take over your thoughts. Why, you are quite possibly the bravest young boy I have ever met!”_

_Sicheng’s head pops up, eyes wary. “Really?”_

_“Really!” his mother repeats enthusiastically, a grin playing at her full, beautiful lips. “You are a hero, my son! Own it! Do not show these monsters fear! Instead, tear them apart, limb from limb! A punishment fit for a measly creature that dares to incite fear in the heart of the bravest boy in the Southern Forest.”_

_“Oh, that is me!” Sicheng cheers, no longer cowering underneath the covers. “I am the bravest boy in the Southern Forest!”_

_His mother laughs, a whimsical sound that fills Sicheng’s heart with warmth and love. “Yes, my boy! You are.”_

It is silly—the affirmations and very obvious exaggerations Sicheng’s mother would use to assuage her youngest son, but they worked every time. Sicheng, placated by his mother’s words, would giggle with her until he was just too tired to lift his head up, falling back asleep for the night without a care in the world or a fear to work himself up over.

He holds onto these memories so tightly, as if afraid they will grow legs and run away, and so Sicheng spends every anniversary tucked underneath the covers of his bed, hiding away in hopes that, if he tries hard enough, he can imagine his mother there, soothing him back to sleep after a fitful nightmare.

It is how Yuta finds him, curled under the sheets of their marriage bed and shivering, as if every candle in the room is not alit, fireplace roaring to insulate the room.

“Sicheng?” he hears Yuta ask, slightly muffled from the layer of sheets, and Sicheng’s heart pangs with panic. He is not even sure why Yuta is in their bedchambers so late in the morning, but he forces himself to stay still. Perhaps if Yuta believes he is sleeping, he will be left alone.

He hears footfall near the bed, a sign that Yuta is walking closer. “Sicheng?” Yuta asks again. “Is everything alright?”

Sicheng stays silent, willing Yuta to just give up and walk away. Yuta has never paid much attention to Sicheng’s emotional state, there is absolutely no reason why he would start right now.

“There is something you are supposed to be doing today, is there not?” Yuta asks, and Sicheng panics when he feels a dip in the mattress, Yuta sitting behind him. “Was it canceled? Does Seo’s husband not want to meet with you after all?”

That is right, Sicheng is supposed to be meeting with Taeyong today, most likely at around this time. That will certainly not be happening today. And to think, Taeyong is the one that sent for him, not the other way around. He will have some explaining to do tomorrow, when the day is finally over and Sicheng can emerge from his nest of mourning.

He can almost feel Yuta’s hesitation, and he holds his breath when he feels a hand settle over his shoulder, resting there lightly, as if to not disturb him. “I know you are not truly asleep,” Yuta whispers, “I am afraid I can tell. You snore in your sleep. Loudly, at that.”

Humiliated and slightly aggravated, Sicheng lifts the sheets up and off of his head, revealing the scandalized look on his face to his husband, who laughs at the sight.

“I do not snore!” Sicheng sputters indignantly, refusing to believe it.

Yuta smirks. “Sicheng, yes you do. Almost every night. I am lucky if I manage to fall asleep before you, because it means I do not have to listen to what sounds awfully close to a ship’s horn when it signals its arrival to port.”

Sicheng flushes. “That—that just _cannot_ be true!”

“It is,” Yuta leers, but his eyes are nothing but teasing as he looks upon Sicheng. “You must be awfully tired every night. So sated, so ready for slumber.”

Now Sicheng flushes for a different reason, looking up at Yuta through his lashes as he watches his husband’s face turn satisfied at his own words. He leans up slightly, ready to play the game.

“I suppose there is truth to that,” he speak slowly, carefully, so that Yuta does not miss a word. “At the end of the night…I feel so _full_ from the day, so sloppy. All I want to do is slumber for a million years, to sleep off the _aches_ in my body. You understand, my Prince?”

Yuta recognizes that he is playing coy, and by the look on his face, he enjoys it.

“I tired you out, do I not?” Yuta asks, voice at a quiet murmur.

Sicheng smiles, letting his eyes droop slightly for effect. “My Prince already know how well he fucks me. I am sure he must also know the effect that has on my body.”

Yuta hums, leaning in close and pressing an insistent kiss to Sicheng’s lips. “Being with you is great for one’s ego, I must say.”

“You and no one else, my Prince,” Sicheng replies, cupping Yuta’s face lightly before letting his hand fall between them, smile slowly slipping off his face as he realizes he is done with the teasing.

Yuta watches on curiously, and Sicheng knows he wants to ask something. Sicheng sinks back down onto the mattress, his head resting on the plush pillow beneath him. He brings the sheets up around his chin, tucking them underneath it.

“I will ask again,” Yuta says, but his voice is nothing but gentle, “is everything alright, Sicheng?”

Sicheng looks over at his husband, hesitating. He has wanted nothing more over the year than to have something to talk to about this day, to have someone that will lie under the covers with him, hold him as he sobs or sleeps or does whatever he sees fit for the day. But he knows Yuta is far too busy and far too disinterested to do anything of the sort for Sicheng. His husband is to be King after all, there is only so much time he can spend coddling his consort, especially one that is _not_ pregnant with an heir.

He supposes he can blame his decision on a leap of faith—blind trust that his husband will do what he should with the role that he has in Sicheng’s life.

“I—“ his voice breaks, and he has to take a moment to ensure that he does not immediately start weeping into the sheets wrapped tightly around him. “Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. Or at least, the anniversary of the day her envoy returned from the Ports without her, claiming her lost at sea.”

Yuta watches Sicheng with a carefully controlled expression. 

“I usually spend this day alone,” Sicheng mutters, knowing that he sounds pitiful. “I curl up in my bed and imagine her lying beside me. I know it sounds silly, but it is a great comfort to me to imagine that she is still in this world, here for me when I need her reassurance, because if not…” he trails off, choking on tears. He allows a couple to fall down his cheeks, clumping around his lips. “If she is not here, how am I supposed to go on?”

Sicheng feels his husband’s hands on him as he begins to sob freely, loud cries that set an ache into Sicheng’s chest. “There, Sicheng,” he hears Yuta murmur close to his ear, hands running up and down and all over his chest, nails scraping lightly against his skin. “I have you, right here. Everything will be alright, my love.”

He cannot even begin to think about the ramifications of Yuta’s words. Instead, Sicheng focuses on the pressure of Yuta’s hands—the slow caresses against his frame and how it seems to center him, claiming him enough to stop sobbing at the very least. Now, he sniffles quietly, with the occasional whimper slipping through. The light flush on his cheeks begins to recede, the the tears on his face start to dry.

“There, there,” Yuta is still saying, voice soft and smooth like rich velvet. Sicheng lies there, letting Yuta pet over him like an animal, but not feeling like one in the slightest. Instead, he feels light and airy, as if he is floating above them, looking down and watching as everything plays out.

“Thank you,” Sicheng mutters, embarrassed.

Yuta clicks his tongue against his teeth. “It is alright, Sicheng. Everyone works themselves up occasionally.”

Sicheng nods, feeling comforted.

“I never do, of course,” Yuta continues on, teasing smile playing at his lips, “but I have heard that most people do—human and faerie alike.”

“Uh huh,” Sicheng nods mockingly now, giggling when Yuta lightly pinches his skin, a random spot between two ribs that sends him into a frenzy. He feels ridiculous, laid out like this underneath Yuta, but what other choice does he have? He cannot leave bed today, no matter how pathetic he may feel. Today is a day of mourning. Yuta’s presence is certainly helping, but he still does not feel well enough to leave bed, and probably will not for the entire day.

Yuta looks down at him once again, expression having sobered up. “I can send for lunch, if you feel like eating.”

“Oh,” Sicheng stops, allowing himself to think for a moment. In the pause, his stomach grumbles lightly, thankfully not loud enough for Yuta to hear, even with his close proximity. “I would like some lunch, thank you, my Prince.”

“You are most welcome.”

Yuta leaves their bedchambers then, sending a reassuring smile over his shoulder before he closes the door. Once he is gone, Sicheng sighs heavily, body tightening up with tension immediately afterwards. It is a strange feeling, the stark contrast between the two, but Sicheng cannot help the immediate unease he feels at being left alone in their large quarters. It is odd, as every other year Sicheng has been more than happy to lie alone in bed, withering away as the day passes slowly, in hopes that his imagination can be creative enough to summon the feeling he would get when his mother would lie beside him. But today, having Yuta by his side, has made everything monumentally better.

And that terrifies Sicheng.

Yuta’s presence in his life has always been everything _but_ comforting. From the first time he met Yuta, he has been a stressor in Sicheng’s life, a thorn in his side—a very important thorn, but a thorn nonetheless—that just would not go away, no matter how hard Sicheng tried. Yuta has been a means to an end, a cock to fuck himself on in order to swell with child and fulfill his duties as consort, living out the rest of his days away from Yuta’s company. Never once has he thought of Yuta as a beacon of light, a source of soothing and relaxation. The sudden change is stressful, it is unexpected, it is entirely the opposite of normal.

Most importantly, it is not unwelcome.

Sicheng finds himself latching onto he and Yuta’s nice, sweet moments. He had been doing so before, seeking out his warmth after sex and cuddling up to it when he realized Yuta was far too exhausted to police him on where he should lie in their shared bed. But every morning, Sicheng wakes up cold and alone. He has never associated Yuta with reliability or warmth, since it is clear he cannot provide either for long periods of time.

Still and yet, Yuta has been more of a comfort for Sicheng in the past hour than he has since he met the man. His husband is callous and calculating, a very cruel and cold man when he wants to be, but Sicheng does not think him evil. Still, it sends a surge of warmth through him at the thought of Yuta seeing him in trouble and wanting to aid him, leaving the comfort and privacy of their bedchambers—which he was seeking for whatever reason—in order to fetch Sicheng some lunch.

When Yuta returns, he has a servant behind him, a meek looking woman of no particular importance carrying a platter of food. Sicheng perks up, sitting up and piling up pillows behind him to lean against as Yuta and the servant ascend upon their bed. 

“I have brought your favorite,” Yuta says, and if Sicheng thinks about it hard enough, Yuta sounds proud almost. “Or at least, the food I have seen you eat most often. I hope it is to your liking.”

It is turkey, slow-cooked to perfection, just the way Sicheng enjoys it. He breathes it in, knowing the cooking staff must have had it on retainer, but allowing himself to think that Yuta had it prepared just for him sends him blushing into his hands as he presses them to his cheeks.

“I love turkey,” he says, looking up at Yuta with a genuine smile, “thank you, my Prince.”

Yuta grins at that, taking Sicheng’s breath away. He cannot even focus on the servant setting the platter down with a low bow, leaving quickly after that. Yuta’s smile, his true smile, is blinding. This is the most Sicheng has seen of Yuta’s teeth, and they are beautiful. His smile takes up more than half of his face, his mouth opening up in a way Sicheng has never seen before.

“We should eat,” Yuta says, breaking Sicheng out of his daze, “before it gets too cold.”

“Yes, my Prince,” Sicheng replies dutifully.

He watches, silently pleased, as Yuta takes two tiny plates off of the cluttered platter, cutting up servings of turkey for the both of them, followed by an array of side dishes arranged strategically on the platter. Yuta hands Sicheng a plate, expression carefully controlled now, and Sicheng takes it with a small, grateful smile, immediately digging in. Now that food is right in front of him, he realizes just how starved he is, and gobbling everything up on his plate is easy.

Yuta laughs when Sicheng sets his empty plate down, looking sheepish. Instead of mocking him though, he merely cuts up more turkey, handing Sicheng’s plate back to him with a particular look in his eye that Sicheng cannot interpret. He takes the plate back with a shy grin, digging in once again and swallowing down his second portion with ease. He has not allowed himself to eat this well since he arrived to the Islands, and part of him is regretting it now. He has allowed himself to forget how much he loves food.

“Did you enjoy it?” Yuta asks once they have cleared the platter, only crumbs and shreds of turkey skin leftover.

“Yes, my Prince,” Sicheng answers, “thank you for fetching it. I deeply appreciate it.”

Yuta nods. “It is nothing to thank me for.”

“Yes it is,” Sicheng insists, looking down at his hands and wringing them together. “You were kind to do that for me. Thank you, my Prince.”

“…Call me Yuta.”

Sicheng’s head snaps up, his eyes locked on his husband. Yuta has drawn in on himself, refusing to look over at Sicheng as he fiddles with the rings on his fingers. Sicheng can feel the distance between them, even though they are sitting on the same bed together.

“W-what?”

Yuta sighs, hanging his head for a moment before looking up and locking eyes with Sicheng. The intensity of his gaze makes Sicheng want to look away, but he chooses not to, not wanting to appear weak, not now, in this vulnerable moment.

“Call me Yuta,” his husband repeats, and the words are just as shocking the second time hearing them. “I call you Sicheng, you should be able to call me Yuta. I have only heard you refer to me by my titles—Prince and husband—you deserve to be able to call me by my given name, the one my mother gave me.”

Sicheng nods, oddly feeling teary-eyed. “Alright,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to sound stable enough at a higher volume. “I will…Yuta.”

Yuta closes his eyes briefly at the sound of his name, opening them quickly afterwards with a wry smile on his face. “You are most welcome, Sicheng.”

Sicheng has to turn away then, feeling far too overwhelmed to continue looking at Yuta. The air between them crackles, tension too thick to separate, and Sicheng feels like he should say something, _do_ something, anything to make his husband feel more comfortable. Logically, he knows that allowing Sicheng to call him by his name is no large feat, but rather basic human decency. Still, a man in Yuta’s position could have lived his entire life without hearing Sicheng say his name without the word ‘Prince’ in front of it. The allowance clearly means something to Yuta, and Sicheng realizes that. He does not take advantage of the kindness given to him in this moment.

“How was it for you?” Sicheng asks. “When you lost your mother?”

Yuta inhales deeply, looking back down at his hands before sighing out everything he just inhaled. 

“I think you are lucky,” Yuta says, “to have lost yours so early. I remember the day the news broke of your mother’s disappearance. I knew it was bad, if even the lowly street rats of the Islands were hearing about it. I was eleven, I believe, but I remember how it was that day. Where I am from, there is a large community of faeries, discarded by society. They were all in mourning. Your mother was a figurehead of sorts, a representation of a life outside of the ones they lived.”

Sicheng waits, knowing that is not the entire story.

“My mother died when I was eighteen,” Yuta continues on, sounding far away and wistful. “I would have never seen it coming. Sickness plagued her faster than I thought was possible, and I had no means to stop it. This castle’s resources were not granted to me until the King’s heir died, and then I was welcome into these walls with open arms. I still see my mother’s face, almost every time I close my eyes, her expression so hopeful. She believed in a higher power, another life after this one, and she wanted desperately to be sent there, in her final days. I…I smothered her one night, while she slept. I took a pillow off of her bed and just…covered her face until she stopped breathing. I have to believe I did it for the right reasons. She was sick, she was _dying_ , and she wanted to go so…I granted her her final wish.”

Horrorstruck, Sicheng sits silently by Yuta’s side, waiting for him to finish.

“It was not until later that I discovered a letter my mother had written,” Yuta whispers. “It detailed her affair with the King—my father—it was my ticket inside of this castle, the reason the King and Queen heard me out. They planned to arrange a job for me, cook or knight if they wanted to bother with training, but then their precious son died, and I stepped in to take his place, the replacement heir to the righteous throne.”

Yuta blinks rapidly, and if Sicheng did not know better, he would think Yuta is blinking back tears.

“You must remember your mother so fondly,” Yuta says finally, “you were not there when she disappeared. I watched as my mother took her final breath. I stop it from her. Losing my mother, it was unbearable, the most painful thing I have ever had to do. And I would do it again, over and over if given the chance.”

Sicheng swallows back the lump in his throat, thinking nausea may not be the best path for him to take in this moment.

“Thank you,” he whispers pitifully, still not trusting his voice, “thank you so much for telling me.”

“Why?” Yuta asks bitterly. “Do you not think me a monster now?”

Sicheng shakes his head immediately, though he knows Yuta cannot see him. “No, Yuta. I think you are brave and willing to do anything for those you love. I admire you. Thank you for telling me that story. I…I truly needed that.”

“To make yourself feel better?” Yuta spits.

“No,” Sicheng shoots it down immediately, feeling a fight brewing between them that he can easily sidestep. “Sharing is healing, Yuta. I thank you for sharing that with me and allowing yourself to heal with me here to witness it. It is a painful thing, remembering, but it must be done. The dead stay dead, they are not going anywhere, but we must continue on. Talking about it helps, yes, but sharing experiences with each other, that is how we will get through this.”

They spend the rest of the day together, lying side by side and in silence. Sicheng knows there must be places Yuta has to be today—he is the King in training, after all—but Yuta does not budge once, not when various people come knocking at their door. He merely sends them away with a vicious shout, gripping onto Sicheng’s hand tighter when he jumps at the noise. 

Night falls and the two fall asleep, hands clutched together. When Sicheng wakes up the next morning, Yuta is still there.

***

Sicheng supposes he cannot be surprised. This was coming for a long time, whether Sicheng wanted it or not. He supposed he should be happy, relieved, excited even. He is catching it remarkably early, but then breeders have always been able to tell.

He waits for the perfect moment, alone with Yuta for the first time in weeks since their shared day together on Sicheng’s mother’s disappearance anniversary. Yuta has been here, there and everywhere, catching up on that day’s work and then some. He has been everywhere except their bedchambers, while Sicheng has been stewing with this news.

Finally, after dinner, Yuta escorts Sicheng back to their bedchambers. He leaves Sicheng one last smile before turning on his heel, beginning the walk back down the hallway.

Sicheng bites at his lip. “Wait—Yuta!” he calls before he can stop himself.

Yuta turns around, eyebrow raised. “Yes?” he asks.

“I—“ Sicheng flushes, “is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

“Well,” Yuta drawls, stepping back over to Sicheng with calculated steps, “you _are_ standing right in front of the door to our very personal, very _private_ bedchambers, are you not?”

Sicheng blinks, wanting to hit himself. “Right.”

They step inside, and as Yuta shuts the door behind them, Sicheng wrings his hands nervously. 

“What is it?” Yuta asks, sounding impatient as he fiddles with the door handle behind him. 

Sicheng knows he must be keeping him from important business, so he keeps it quick. “I have been feeling off lately,” he begins, mentally cursing himself at how stilted and _stupid_ he sounds. “I…well, these are things that people like me just know about, and I have a very strong feeling about this—“

“What are you talking about, Sicheng?” Yuta looks annoyed, yes, but above all he looks cautious, as if not trying to get his hopes up.

Sicheng makes eye contact with his husband purposefully. “Once breeders have this intuition, we are never wrong. This—this is not something I would throw around lightly."

Yuta lets go of the door handle, deliberately walking over to Sicheng with some sort of gleam in his eye. “ _What_ is not something you would throw around lightly?”

“Yuta—“

“ _What is it, Sicheng_?”

Sicheng gulps, looking up into his husband’s eyes and reminding himself that, despite everything, this is _not_ a bad thing. He feels confident, for once, secure in his place at the castle, and he knows that soon, everything will start to fall into place.

“I am pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))))))))))))))
> 
> leave a comment with your thoughts if you want and follow me over on my new twitter @ planetsuh with a capital i instead of an l. have a great night you guys!


	5. part five: darkness ebbs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back with the second to last chapter. enjoy!!!

part five: darkness ebbs

“Yes,” the doctor muses, “seven weeks along, I would presume.” 

Sicheng’s eyebrows crinkle together. “How can you tell?”

The doctor sends Sicheng an exasperated look. “Are you questioning my diagnosis? You present signs of early pregnancy, need I say more?”

“No, I suppose not,” Sicheng mutters. Though he could easily identify the changes inside of him, he still does not understand how the doctor came to such a diagnosis. “So, does this mean I conceived the night of the wedding?”

“Most likely,” the doctor muses, looking away from his notes to send a wry smile Sicheng’s way, “oftentimes, breeders will—for lack of a better word— _breed_ , after just one try. I have found, in my professional experience, that it does not take much to impregnate a breeder.”

Sicheng flushes. _And I thought perhaps something was wrong with me_.

“Forgive me, doctor,” Yuta speaks up from beside him, looking on edge, and Sicheng realizes that perhaps he has wanted to say something all along, but could not find the opportunity until now, “but, from your estimation, is the babe healthy? We are about to present this news to the King and Queen. If there is any more information you can provide, I would be especially grateful.”

Sicheng bites his tongue as the doctor sends a warm smile Yuta’s way, a complete contrast from the way he treated Sicheng whenever _he_ had questions. Such is the life of a consort, and even more so for a breeder consort, at that.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the doctor responds in kind, walking back over to the foot of the examination table Sicheng has propped himself up on. He gently lifts Sicheng’s feet back into the wooden stirrups attached to the table, forcing him to spread his legs as he takes another look inside. Sicheng chews on the inside of his cheek and forces himself to keep his eyes on Yuta, refusing to acknowledge the elderly doctor between his legs. Yuta looks right back at him, though, with mirth in his eyes, as if he understands the uncomfortable situation he has placed Sicheng in, and is wordlessly apologizing for being directly responsible. Or, Sicheng is reading into it, and Yuta is just smirking like he usually does when he is not sure what else to do.

Eventually, the doctor remerges from between Sicheng’s legs, and the pair watch as he jots down a few more things in his notes. His records are copious, Sicheng notices, though perhaps that is an important habit to keep with the child of a Prince and his consort.

“Alright!” the doctor exclaims, turning away from his notes to face the couple. “At this time, there is very little in terms of positioning that I can tell you concerning your babe. However, from this stage, spotting is a very important aspect to keep track of. Any sign of blood appearing in your undergarments should immediately be reported to your handmaidens, consort. Bleeding is entirely too common during breeders’ pregnancies, and often leads to miscarriage. We would absolutely _loathe_ for that to happen in this case, obviously. It is my observation that your birth canal is entirely clear at the moment, which is a fantastic sign. I see no cause for concern, but if at any point you begin to spot or bleed, please notify someone close to you, and we will set up an appointment to address it. Does that satisfy your needs, my Prince?”

Yuta nods, eyes slightly widened and dazed as he digests the onslaught of information the doctor has just provided. “Quite,” he replies eventually, “thank you, doctor. You will be compensated generously for your service.”

The doctor flushes at that. “Oh, my prince,” he says, sounding somewhat bashful, “I am but the palace’s primary physician. Should either of you need any medical attention whatsoever, that is what I am here for. There is no need to compensate me further than what your family has already done for me.”

Sicheng can tell by the appraising look in Yuta’s eye that that was the right answer. Yuta shakes the doctor’s hand, then reaches out for Sicheng’s and helps him off the examination table. Sicheng dusts off his robes out of habit, bowing lowly towards the doctor and murmuring a quiet thanks, before Yuta leads him out the door.

As they make their way down the hallway, Yuta’s hand never leaves Sicheng’s lower back. The warmth the touch provides calms Sicheng, and he allows himself to lean into it, shuffling slightly closer to Yuta’s side, and sighing with relief when Yuta says nothing of it, stepping closer to Sicheng in turn to warm him up further. After so many nights of being cold, Sicheng is greedy with Yuta’s body heat, swallowing it up for as long as he possibly can.

“How are you feeling?” Yuta asks quietly as they turn a corner, placing them that much closer to the dining hall, where the King and Queen no doubt wait for them to join them for dinner.

Sicheng blinks. “What?” he asks dumbly.

Yuta stifles a chuckle behind a smirk. “After that visit, how are you feeling? With the pregnancy?”

“Oh,” Sicheng balks, “I have not given it much thought. I am pleased, Yuta, that is without a doubt. I have never been more pleased in my entire life.”

The taste of Yuta’s name in Sicheng’s mouth is pleasant, sweet. Ever since yuta granted permission for Sicheng to call him by his name, Sicheng has done so liberally. He loves the power of holding Yuta’s given name on his tongue, of knowing that only he and the King himself can call Yuta by his given name.

“That is good,” Yuta replies diplomatically. 

Sicheng hesitates, then asks, “how do _you_ feel about the pregnancy, my prince?”

“I could not be happier,” Yuta replies instantly, and while Sicheng tries to find a hint of a lie, he flushes with pleasure when he finds that he cannot find it. “This babe will be my heir, my successor to the throne. You carry my son, Sicheng, I could not be more ecstatic.”

A pleased hum turns to ash in Sicheng’s throat. Of course. The first step was always to fall pregnant, but Sicheng has been so lost in the excitement of discovering his own pregnancy and scheduling the doctor’s visit that he had forgotten the second step. Conceiving a son. Sicheng does not even want to think about what could happen if his babe is a daughter, a little half-faerie princess. What a disgrace she would be, what the Islands’ court would think of Sicheng, what the King and Queen would think of Sicheng.

What would Yuta think, if Sicheng were unable to provide him a son?

“I am glad that you are happy, my prince,” Sicheng says diplomatically, heart pounding inside of his chest. “Pregnancy is something to celebrate, after all.”

Sicheng knows that Yuta knows he does not believe his words. He got rid of Jungwoo, his most trustworthy friend and handmaiden, over his pregnancy. Sicheng knows his status, knows what his pregnancy means for the Islands, but he also knows that Yuta most likely sees right through any well-meaning comments he makes about pregnancies in general. Unless it applies to Sicheng directly, he could not care less about others’ pregnancies.

They arrive at the dining hall, and as they enter, Yuta’s hand still does not leave Sicheng’s body. He notices the Queen tracking the close contact, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lord Moon doing the same, but he dutifully ignores both, bowing his head towards Yuta when he pulls Sicheng’s chair out for him, allowing him to sit down before taking his own seat.

“You are late!” the King bellows, but his tone is ambivalent.

Yuta bows his head politely. “My apologies, father,” he says tonelessly, “my consort and I had some business to attend to that, unfortunately, held us up.”

The King’s eyebrows furrow. “What sort of business?” he asks. “Surely nothing that would keep you away this long? We nearly started without you!”

Sicheng glances at Yuta, who is already looking at him. He nods twice, before angling his head downwards, a sign of submission. This is Yuta’s news to deliver, it is _his_ heir Sicheng is carrying. Sicheng’s place in all of this is to sit quietly and allow Yuta to inform the King and Queen of the recent development.

“Well, father,” Yuta clears his throat, an unusual sign of nerves that Sicheng appreciates—it shows that they both are nervous, “we had an appointment with the palace’s physician.”

Sicheng can feel the eyes of everyone in the room—the King, the Queen, Yuta, Taeil, and the servants—on him. He swallows, but keeps his head dutifully bent.

“Whatever for?” the Queen asks, her tone calculating and just distant enough to make Sicheng flinch, though a part of him is smug. For all her efforts to couple Yuta with other women, none fell pregnant before Sicheng. None are carrying the Islands’ heir.

Sicheng feels Yuta’s hand clasp his thigh, an anchor in a storm of discomfort. 

“Sicheng is with child.”

Alert all at once, the King sits up, eyes wide with shock and pride and something else that is difficult to discern from the position Sicheng has his head bowed at. “Truly?!” the King nearly yelps, seemingly recognizing the extreme reaction and containing himself. “My son, you truly have sired and heir?”

Sicheng just barely holds back a wince at the wording the King has chosen, but he feels a rush of pride overtake him when Yuta nods enthusiastically, hand at his thigh clenching the skin there tightly in his palm. It is slightly painful, but to stay in contact with Yuta in this moment, Sicheng will endure it.

“The palace physician only just confirmed it,” Yuta says.

Yuta pats his thigh once, and Sicheng takes the cue for what it is and dares to raise his head, immediately flushing at the wide grin overtaking the King’s face. He tries to fight off his own smile and fails. He thinks even his teeth are showing from how wide his lips are stretched.

“Oh! How wonderful!” the King cheers, slamming his gauntlet down on the table to clap his hands together. He looks around at the servants, prompting them, and soon Sicheng has to duck his head to hide his flush of embarrassment as the servants all join in, applauding Yuta for fucking Sicheng successfully, he supposes.

“What else did the physician tell you?” the Queen asks after too long of an applause, painted lips pursed tightly. They are the first words she has spoken since Yuta and Sicheng sat down.

Yuta looks to Sicheng, fielding the question to him. Sicheng smiles automatically, showing his thanks to his husband for allowing him to take part in the sharing. It is well within Yuta’s rights to be the only person speaking on behalf of their babe, but he has granted Sicheng a gift, allowing him to speak like this.

“He surmised that the babe is seven weeks along, conceived on the night of our wedding, Your Grace,” Sicheng replies, carefully leveling the volume of his voice to ensure that he does not speak too loud. Though he is thankful for the opportunity to speak, he does not want to overshadow the volume of his husband’s voice, does not want his to be the voice easiest to hear for passerby.

The Queen arches an eyebrow, and if Sicheng were to look deeply enough, he is sure that he would find disappointment swimming behind her gaze. Yes, not only were his attempts to couple Yuta with a fertile mistress a failure, but they were futile. Sicheng has been with child from the very beginning.

“Well,” the King cuts in once again, “this is just _excellent_ news! Splendid, indeed! My son, heir to the Islands’ throne, with an heir of his own, before he even takes the throne for himself! A mighty success, that is!”

Yuta bows his head, a show of humbleness that Sicheng knows his husband does not truly possess. That is the bulk of their interactions with Yuta’s parents anyhow—a facade. That is what is required when in the presence of the King and Queen.

“Congratulations.”

Sicheng looks up to find Taeil’s eyes boring holes in Sicheng’s skull. Pressured by the weight of his gaze, Sicheng feels himself automatically scooting closer to his husband, seeking out protection without even thinking twice. Yuta’s hand on his thigh grips him impossibly tight, but Sicheng is too off-put to wince at any pain. He looks back at Taeil, wondering what might be going through his head. Only a handful of people inside the palace, Sicheng included, know that Taeil is the King’s bastard son, born a year before Prince Yuta, and instead of given what could be his rightful spot as first in line for the throne, he sits at the table as a humble lord. He has an heir of his own, Sicheng realizes with disgust, remembering Jungwoo’s wet, hopeful eyes as he shared the news of his pregnancy with Sicheng, hoping for support and realizing his worst fears were coming to fruition as Sicheng tossed him aside instead.

For a moment, Sicheng allows himself to worry. Taeil, if he truly wanted to, could usurp Yuta’s position, take over as the King’s true heir. Though a bastard himself, as firstborn, Taeil has a claim to the throne. Yuta and the King may believe him sated as a lord, but Sicheng allows himself to think the worst. With Jungwoo’s pregnancy, Taeil has an heir, a way to the throne. Though Taeil has promised that he does not intend to use Jungwoo or the babe as a scapegoat to steal the throne, Sicheng cannot be so sure, not when Taeil looks at him with the most hateful, distrustful eyes.

“My love?” Yuta murmurs, pulling Sicheng out of his thoughts. “Are you finished?”

Sicheng looks down at his plate, not entirely knowing _when_ it was that he cleared his plate. He rests a hand on his stomach, realizing that he is full. He looks to Yuta and nods, and that is the only cue Yuta needs to push his chair back and stand up from the table, his hand transferring to Sicheng’s to grab and interlock his fingers with his. Sicheng watches as the Queen watches their intertwined hands, eyes narrowing at the sight. He cannot help but puff his chest out, just a bit. Not only has he bested the Queen at producing an heir, he has bested the Queen in securing Yuta’s public affection.

As for his private affections, well, Sicheng can only hope and pray that, with the knowledge of an heir, Yuta no longer sees the need for mistresses.

“We will take our leave now, father,” Yuta announces, rather obviously given that he and Sicheng are standing from the table. “This afternoon has been quite draining for my consort. I shall see him to an early night’s rest and return to my office to catch up on the day’s paperwork.”

The King nods, expression still jovial. Sicheng feels his ego swell at how happy the news of his pregnancy has made the monarch. The knowledge of the King’s alleged war crimes against the Southern Forest and the Ports—against _faeries—_ roils inside his stomach, but for now, Sicheng allows himself to breathe easy. He is with child. Yuta is sated. The King is sated. The Queen is mollified. All is well, relatively speaking.

“Of course!” the King crows. “A wonderful night to the lovely couple!”

Yuta leads Sicheng out of the dining hall then, hand clasped tightly in his. The walk to their bedchambers is as quick and familiar as ever, and before he knows it, Yuta has him inside, door swinging shut, their curtain of privacy up to the world.

“Well,” Yuta sighs out, plopping down on their bed, “I am positively _exhausted_.”

Sicheng smiles and walks over to join his husband. “But, my prince,” he says teasingly, “do you not have paperwork to catch up on?”

Yuta glares playfully at Sicheng. He reaches out and nudges Sicheng’s stomach with his elbow, no real force behind it, not with the knowledge of their babe now out in the open. “Perhaps I exaggerated a few details,” Yuta muses quietly, “in order to escape that dinner as fast as I could.

“You felt it too?” Sicheng asks. “That tension, I have never felt so uncomfortable sitting beside you than I did just now.”

Yuta nods solemnly. “The Queen is certainly… _unhappy_ with the direction our coupling has taken us.”

“That, I do not understand,” Sicheng groans. “She has spent so many of her waking hours torturing me with the knowledge that I had yet to fall pregnant, come to find out I was with child all along! Not only does she not show the proper respect of congratulating you, but she dares to glare at us as we leave! I have never been so confused. Did she even want me to fall pregnant?”

“I believe you know the answer to that, my love,” Yuta responds, eyebrow raised.

Sicheng rolls his eyes, allowing himself this reaction in the presence of his husband. “Then _why_ did she harass me so? She could have very well left it well enough alone! Instead, she hounds me, day in and day out, _reminding_ me of my failures as a consort!”

Yuta reaches out then, cupping Sicheng’s cheeks in both hands and directing his head to face Yuta’s. “You have not failed,” Sicheng’s husband gently reminds him. “You have my son inside of you. You are pregnant with the Islands’ next heir. You…Sicheng, you most certainly have _not_ failed.”

“I know that,” Sicheng whispers wetly, “truly, I do. What if…what if the babe is not an heir? What if…they are a princess instead? What if I have not failed you in the sense of falling pregnant, but instead have failed to provide you a son?

He did not mean to voice it out loud—his concerns over his pregnancy. It was, quite literally, the last thing he had wanted to do. Stress is the last thing he needs, especially now, during the duration of the pregnancy that is most susceptible to bleeding and miscarriage and every other awful thing that has befallen a male breeder that dared to conceive. Sicheng’s body was built for this, there is a reason he has a birth canal, but there is a very loud voice in the back of his head screaming at him to stop speaking, to atop stressing, that he is not truly meant to be pregnant with a babe.

Yuta’s eyebrows are furrowed, his lips pulled into an unattractive frown that Sicheng wishes to kiss right off his face.

“Why think such things?” Yuta asks, and Sicheng’s heart sinks as he realizes his husband is not going to properly answer his question.

Because, whether he wants to think about it or not, Sicheng knows what will happen if, when the time comes, Sicheng gives birth, and out pops a daughter instead of the son everyone expects of him. He knows just how Yuta will react, how the King will react, how the entire court of the Islands will react if Sicheng even dares to try and present a daughter as Prince Yuta’s firstborn. Even worse, if Sicheng bares a son, but that son is a breeder, just like his mother.

No, the only option is a son that is just like Yuta. A son that, despite his faerie lineage, has _strong_ human features and is incapable of bearing children of his own. _That_ is the only option for Sicheng.

Sicheng does take to an early night’s rest, as Yuta told the King before they left the dining hall, but it is an unpleasant, dreamless night of sleep, wherein Sicheng’s own thoughts are able to take over, his imagination running wild as he pictures the horrible fates that await him and his child should he not be the perfect son the Islands so desperately want.

***

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Ten says dryly, looking entirely unimpressed as Sicheng struggles to sit comfortably in the tub.

Sicheng’s head jerks up towards his handmaiden, sharp glare at the ready. “Why _yes_ , they are,” he spits out, shuffling around once more as his stomach cramps sharply.

Ten seems to want to roll his eyes, but thinks better of it. “But _I_ thought it was your worst nightmare to fall pregnant at the hands of the Islands’ bastard prince?” he asks sweetly, too saccharine and sickly to be taken seriously.

“You would do well to watch your tongue,” Sicheng mutters darkly, sinking further into the warm water. 

Ten stares. “You have changed.” Then says nothing after that.

Sicheng’s handmaiden readies him for the day in absolute silence, piercing and cold in its sharp contrast from what Sicheng has grown used to expecting from Ten. As opposed to loud, obnoxious chatter and crude, unnecessary jokes that Sicheng always wishes he could somehow cast away from his brain, Sicheng is left to wallow in complete and utter silence. The blackness of it nearly swallows him whole, and with his eyes closed, it is easy for him to nearly fall back asleep as Ten dutifully spreads products all over his face and hair. It is nearly unbearable, and it only makes it worse when none other than Yuta bursts into the room, cheeks slightly ruddy and expression sheepish.

“Hi?” Sicheng greets questioningly. Yuta has never once stepped foot into their bedchambers during the day, aside from the anniversary of Sicheng’s mother’s passing. 

Yuta clears his throat, eyes darting towards Ten. From what Sicheng can tell, he is losing his nerve, but he replies anyway. “Good morning. I was wondering if you were alright.”

Sicheng blinks. “What?”

“The physician,” Yuta explains, “he mentioned that we should watch out for bleeding these next few weeks. I was wondering if…I know you have already had your bath. Did you notice any bleeding this morning before you bathed?”

_Oh_. Sicheng’s heart stutters to a halting stop, sputtering weakly but otherwise a lost cause. Out of the corner of his eye, Sicheng sees Ten’s eyebrows raise, but his handmaiden stays silent, watching on almost curiously. Yuta looks very uncomfortable, having this conversation in front of Ten, but his gaze remains on Sicheng, steadfast and true. Sicheng feels like his lungs could collapse.

“Everything is fine,” Sicheng replies gently. “I checked my bedclothes and the sheets this morning—no blood. Not even a little spotting. I am fine. So is the babe.”

Yuta seems to sag with relief. “Alright,” he says, “thank you for telling me.”

“Of course,” Sicheng answers.

Eyes flicking around the room once again, Yuta’s gaze lands on Ten for a split second, and he seems to shock himself out of his stupor. “Well, I will be off then,” he says rather abruptly, “I shall see you at dinner.” Then he leaves, not allowing for Sicheng to say anything else before the heavy door swings shut and the room is swallowed in silence once more, as if he was never there at all.

“Well,” Ten drawls, “ _that_ was certainly unexpected.”

“Why?” Sicheng cannot help but ask, though he knows he is setting himself up for a rather indignant conversation. “Why is that unexpected?”

Ten looks confused and slightly incredulous. “Do not play the fool, my prince,” he spits out, the venom in his words making Sicheng flinch. “I have heard you speak of Prince Yuta with nothing other than ill opinion for nearly two months now, and all of a sudden you are defending him?”

“You are not me,” Sicheng replies, just as viciously, “do not fancy yourself an expert on my thoughts and motivations. How are you to know how I truly feel about _my husband_?”

“Your husband,” Ten sneers, “yes, of course. Before all of this, he was the enemy, the reason you had to leave the Southern Forest—your _home_ , your _kingdom_ —but now that he has fucked you good and well enough, he is your _husband_. I see.”

Sicheng can feel his face turning red, from anger and embarrassment and everything else in between. “Do not take that tone with me! I am still your prince!”

“Are you? Truly?” Ten asks mockingly, his tone saturated with something mean and cruel that sinks into Sicheng’s spine and coils around his bones, dousing them and lighting them on fire. “I seem to remember you having to leave your allegiance to the Southern Forest behind the second you stepped on the _slave ship_ that brought us over here. Have you forgotten what your title truly is now? It is _consort_. The _royal slut_. Meant to warm the prince’s bed and let him fuck you to ruins. Congratulations, _Sicheng_ , you have done just that. He has ruined you.”

Sicheng gapes. His handmaiden, and someone he considers a very close friend, stands before him, but he is unrecognizable. His face is twisted up, morphed into this rude expression that leaves Sicheng breathless and confused. Everything he is saying is coming out of nowhere. Sicheng has never felt more thrown off in his entire life.

“Why are you being like this?” Sicheng asks quietly, voice almost too soft for Ten to hear.

Ten stares for awhile, eyes ice cold and nearly grey as he takes Sicheng in. “Because Jungwoo is not here to stop me.” Then he turns and exits the room, leaving Sicheng alone. It is completely inappropriate for Ten to do so, and had he not stunned Sicheng with his words, he would have followed him into the hallway and told him off. Instead, his feet are rooted to the ground, keeping him in place and forcing him to contend with the words Ten just spoke.

Ever since discovering he has been pregnant all along, Sicheng has thought far too much about Jungwoo and his treatment of him. Was he too rash? Should he have waited just a moment longer to collect his thoughts before letting him go the way he did? Has he truly allowed Yuta to ruin him?

That seems to be Ten’s thought, but Sicheng remains to be convinced. Yuta is brash, sure, and quite rude when he wants to be, but unless Sicheng’s eyes deceive him, he is gentle with his body, especially now that they have the knowledge that there is a babe inside of him. Yuta still fucks him to sleep every night, but it is much more intimate, much less harsh and fast. It is calming, just enough to send Sicheng over the edge after a long, exhausting day. It is everything he wants and more, being enveloped in Yuta’s warmth as he sleeps, undisturbed.

But even if he _was_ rash with his dealings with Jungwoo, there is nothing to be done to take it all back. Jungwoo has been removed from his service, a decision that cannot be undone for someone like Sicheng. He has absolutely no control over who is hired to serve him, only slight input in the dismissal of his staff. His rash behavior whilst dealing with Jungwoo was enough to convince exactly who needed to be that Jungwoo was to be let go with no muss or fuss, but those same people would not allow Sicheng to convince them to bring him back. Not after all this time.

But for Ten to call him such degrading names…to call him a _slut_. Sicheng just cannot believe it.

He can only begin to feel worse when the Queen manages to get him alone. News of his pregnancy has spread like wildfire throughout the palace, and Sicheng knows the Queen has dealt with a lot of blowback for orchestrating so many of Yuta’s affairs, especially considering Sicheng has been pregnant all along.

“I did not get the chance to offer you my proper congratulations, consort,” the Queen says, her stature and tone nothing if not the picture of propriety.

Sicheng bows his head. “I thought nothing of it, Your Grace,” he replies, though he thinks otherwise, “thank you for your kind congratulations.”

“Yes,” the Queen muses, “it is certainly a marvel to celebrate.”

“Of course, an heir is a blessing for _any_ coupling, no less royals,” Sicheng says for lack of anything else he could possibly say.

The Queen arches a brow, looking down her nose at Sicheng as though he were something filthy that was carried off of the ship by accident all those weeks ago. “Certainly,” she remarks, “I just so aggressively hope the babe is truly an _heir_. A princess is _not_ what the Islands are looking for to take the position of next in line.”

Sicheng gulps. So _this_ is what this is about. His one gaping anxiety surrounding his pregnancy, and the Queen is shoving it in his face as though it were nothing. There is hardly anything else Sicheng can think about than what the royals would do should Sicheng be carrying a princess instead of a prince. One minute with the Queen, and Sicheng is suddenly thinking all of those intrusive thoughts once more.

“Your Grace,” he starts off tentatively, “what _would_ happen if I were to give the Islands a princess instead of an heir?”

The smug expression on the Queen’s face makes Sicheng sick to his stomach. “That is a _wonderful_ question, consort. I suppose we would first have to send word to the King that his precious son’s consort has failed. Then, as a wet nurse comes to take your sweet little girl away from you, I will send for the first in a _long_ line of women who will warm Prince Yuta’s bed for the considerable future, or at least until one falls pregnant and _is_ able to produce the heir that the Islands need. Once an heir is born, Prince Yuta will claim that bastard as his own, and the young boy will be placed with only the finest of tutors to prepare him to take the throne. You will, of course, be shipped off to smaller, less populated island, where you will live out your days pampered and wanting for nothing. Your daughter will remain here, at the palace, until Prince Yuta can find a suitable marriage match for her, and then _she_ will be shipped off, destined to a life of spreading her legs and bearing the sons of some other royal.”

Horror sinks into Sicheng’s chest, falling down and down and eventually settling deep into his stomach. His fingertips feel ice cold, as if his heart has stopped pumping blood to his extremities, and his legs begin to feel as though they may collapse as he stands.

“Does that soothe your worries, consort?” the perfect arch of the Queen’s eyebrow taunts Sicheng, and he leaves the room as fast as he can. Neither he nor the Queen care that he did not bother to perform the proper farewells.

Sicheng runs—uncaring of how it makes him look—dashing down the halls and desperately seeking out a dark corner than he can throw himself into to cry his stress away. To have the Queen standing so close to him, spitting out such awful truths that Sicheng, whether he wants to admit or not, has always known, was the lowest form of humiliation he has ever experienced. His babe, blessed may they be, is fated to live a life without him either way. Such is the life of a consort, Sicheng has always known, to bear children that one may or may not ever see again unless in formal settings. Still, the knowledge that a daughter would grow up without ever meeting him crushes Sicheng’s soul. He does not even want to entertain the idea of having a boy.

His pregnancy means everything to Yuta, that much is clear. He knows Yuta wants a son, knows Yuta would do his best to _raise_ a son. No matter how small Sicheng’s role is in their babe’s life, Yuta will still be here, for as long as he can, and he finds comfort in that small bit of knowledge.

One thing is for certain, though: Sicheng _cannot_ be carrying a girl.

***

In the coming weeks, Sicheng is sick more times than he can count.

He jolts awake in the middle of the night, something he has not done since he first arrived to the Islands. Yuta’s arms are locked around his waist, always a constant source of warmth and shelter, and every time Sicheng struggles to get out of his husband’s embrace with enough time to reach the tub room, emptying his stomach contents into the bedpan their servants left out for him, knowing he would need it for this very reason.

And every time, Yuta is awake by the time he returns to bed, shaking like a leaf and sweating profusely, stomach lurching in protest with every step he takes. Yuta sits up from the pillows, rubbing his eyes sleepily before watching Sicheng lumber over to the bed as slowly as possible, trying not to jostle around his stomach too much. The last thing he wants to do is make his babe angry.

“Another bout of sickness?” Yuta asks expectantly, and he would be an idiot if he did not already know the answer.

Sicheng nods slowly, and his face crumples as he collapses onto the bed, tears springing from his eyes and running down his face in thick globs. He flushes pink with embarrassment, hating more than anything that Yuta is seeing him in such a vulnerable state.

“It is alright,” Yuta murmurs, gathering Sicheng close and wrapping his arms around him once more, “it is natural. It means our babe is healthy.”

_Our babe_. Sicheng’s heart flutters at the words, daring to seek out another meaning beyond the simple facts, that Yuta’s babe is the one inside of Sicheng, that they will be parents within a few months.

“He is strong,” Sicheng whimpers sleepily, tucking his face into Yuta’s neck. “He makes me sick nearly every morning and night.”

“He is,” Yuta agrees, daring to sound proud of it, “he will be a strong babe.”

Sicheng whines. “That only means he will kick like a mule when he grows bigger.”

Yuta laughs, planting small little kisses to the top of Sicheng’s head. He knows it must not smell pleasant—Ten has not yet returned to Sicheng’s bedchambers since their fight, and Sicheng, as embarrassing as it is, does not know how to wash his own hair—but he says nothing, just continues to soothe Sicheng until he grows sleepy.

He is tired all the time too, no longer having the energy to do anything. He wakes at the slightest disturbance, and for the first time since his marriage, Sicheng rises when Yuta does, his husband’s movements rousing him from sleep and making him unable to fall back asleep.

“I could sleep somewhere else,” Yuta offers one morning, whispering it so quietly Sicheng nearly does not hear it, “so you can sleep more. I hate to wake you every morning like I do.”

Sicheng vehemently shakes his head, sitting up to properly face his husband, who is already standing, looking down at Sicheng from his position by the bed. “Then I would not be able to fall asleep!” Sicheng complains. “I need to be warm to sleep properly. So does your child.”

“Ah,” Yuta smirks playfully, “my _child_ needs it, does he?”

“Yes,” Sicheng replies snootily, looking away and turning his nose up. “Your child would also appreciate you not teasing his mother so much.”

Yuta laughs. “I shall keep that in mind.” He climbs back onto the bed, crawling over to where Sicheng sits and kisses him softly. He pulls away after a moment with a fond smile on his face, and while Sicheng’s heart melts into his chest, Yuta stands back up, rubbing the remaining bits of sleep from his eyes before heading out the door for the beginning of his day.

Sicheng has taken to following Yuta around a lot. He never had much to do during the day anyways—his only real job was to be available for Yuta whenever he wanted Sicheng to spread his legs for him, which he did and still does readily—and in his current condition he finds himself missing his husband quite frequently. Yuta spends hours of his day locked inside of his office, but it did not take much convincing for him to allow Sicheng to sit with him, quietly of course. He occupies the couch while Yuta scribbles relentlessly against scrolls upon scrolls of parchment, each one seemingly longer than the last.

“What is it that has you writing so much all the time?” Sicheng finally asks one day, perched on the edge of the couch and craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse at the words Yuta might be writing.

Yuta shrugs. “Bills. Budgets. Civilian complaints. Busy work that my father is too lazy to complete, making it _my_ responsibility.”

“Does he do that a lot?” Sicheng asks curiously. “Field his responsibilities onto you, I mean?”

“I mean this quite literally when I say I am essentially doing his job for him,” Yuta sighs, sitting back in his chair and bringing an ink stained hand up to his temple, rubbing into it in a circle to create pressure. “So many of these documents contain information I _know_ I am not supposed to see. Even as the heir, my clearance for these kind of papers is nowhere near this calibre.”

Something cold and heavy spreads in Sicheng’s chest, turning his blood into ice. “What kind of documents?”

Yuta spares a quick glance at Sicheng before looking back down at the sizable spread of parchment all over his desk. “I ratify laws that the Council votes on, approve of adjustments to trade routes, examine and improve upon domestic policies. I once had to read a classified document concerning an alliance with another human kingdom, one that I am sure even the Council does not know about.”

Sicheng’s heartbeat thuds in his ears. “Trade routes?” he asks meekly. “You are in charge of trade routes?”

“Not in charge, technically,” Yuta explains, completely unaware of Sicheng’s inner turmoil. “The Council decides all of that actually. As heir, I am unqualified to sit in on Council meetings, but the King attends silently, and everything they discuss and vote on ends up passing over his desk anyhow.”

“So you have no control over things like trade routes and laws?”

“I approve or reject all of it, using the King’s sigil, of course,” Yuta says wryly, his frustration pinching up his face. “If I saw something I knew the King would disapprove of, I would reject it and send it back to the Council, though there are not many instances where that happens.”

It hurts, but Sicheng lets out the breath he has been holding captive to his chest, forcing himself to exhale slowly and not startle his husband by letting all their air rush out at once. There are tears in his eyes, welling up and threatening to spill over and down his cheeks. He can always blame it on his pregnancy, but the last thing he needs to do is start crying right now. That will certainly make Yuta suspicious.

And it hurts knowing there is something for him to suspicious about. Yuta approves and rejects alternate trade routes. The Islands are actively intercepting trade ships from the Southern Forest, the Ports, and more faerie kingdoms to kidnap and sell faeries into slavery to gain more profit for the Islands, if Seo Taeyong is to be believed. Yuta knows when the Islands adjust their own trade routes. He knows when ships alter their courses.

The question is: does he know why?

“Are you feeling alright?” Yuta asks.

Sicheng looks umm dazedly blinking the tears out of his eyes. “I am fine,” he says hoarsely, clearing his throat right after. He gets up from the couch, walking over to where Yuta still sits, slouched and relaxed, and plants himself in his husband’s lap. “You have something…” he trails off, licking his thumb and swiping it across Yuta’s temple, rubbing off the ink smudge on his skin.

Yuta smiles up at Sicheng. “Thank you, love,” he says kindly.

“You are welcome,” Sicheng mumbles shyly, turning away to hide his flushed cheeks. 

In an instant, Sicheng has gone back to normal, pretending like nothing happened at all, but he does not forget what he discovered.

Especially when he finds himself cornered, once again, by Taeyong and his devastatingly beautiful glittering eyes. Sicheng has learned that Taeyong’s weapon is his face—as hauntingly gorgeous and cunning as it is. Taeyong’s pink hair is styles high off his forehead and his eyelids are colored dark with charcoal, paired with silver-tinted glitter on his high cheekbones and something pink on his lips like cherry blossoms.

“I have been looking for you, consort,” Taeyong drawls.

“Here I am,” Sicheng replies hesitantly. 

Taeyong bows, not low enough for someone of Sicheng’s status but low enough to pass. That is what Taeyong does best after all, constantly pushing the boundaries of what he can get away with. 

“I have heard through the palace’s grapevine that congratulations are in order,” Taeyong says, a vicious smile on his face, “I hear you are with child.”

Sicheng straightens up, refusing to give even a centimeter as he acknowledges the life growing inside of him. “I am,” he states, letting his pride sing loudly through his tone, “I am twelve weeks along.”

“Twelve?” Taeyong arches an eyebrow. “How did this news slip under the court’s watchful eyes for so long?”

“I only just found out,” Sicheng replies evenly, refusing to feel any shame. It is the job of a consort, and even more so of a breeder, to be able to recognize the telltale signs of pregnancy. Sicheng is not entirely sure _why_ it took him so long to figure it out, but he clings to the hope that it means there is nothing wrong with his babe. “The palace physician confirmed it a few weeks ago.”

“Still and yet, the court usually would have heard about this _much_ sooner,” Taeyong muses, tapping a thin finger delicately against his pointed chin. “I wonder why the Queen kept it under wraps for so long?”

Sicheng only slightly winces, holding the rest of his reaction inside of him. “I am not the person to be speculating the Queen’s decisions.”

“If that is not the truth, then what is?” Taeyong asks, tone rich with condescension. “In any case, I am glad to have an excuse to approach you. I was wondering if you would like to have tea with Doyoung and I?”

“You and Doyoung?” Sicheng asks, shocked.

“Yes, the other faerie you met during that…incident a couple months ago,” Taeyong clarifies, and he shows his first sign of vulnerability when his cheeks color pink slightly, the memory of that day most likely crossing over his mind. 

Sicheng nods. “I remember. Why do you want to have tea?”

“Do not act so ignorant, consort,” Taeyong seethes, “it is beneath you. You know good and well why I am inviting you for tea.”

_Yes_ , Sicheng thinks, _though I am not sure I_ want _to have tea with either of you. I fear I may know too much. I fear a meeting with you would be betrayal._

“Of course,” Sicheng bows his head slightly, a small apology, “I would love to have tea with you. When?”

“Two days from now,” Taeyong replies, looking and sounding much more cheerful now that Sicheng has agreed so readily. “I will ensure that the tea is safe to consume in your condition.”

Sicheng smiles. “Thank you. I shall see you then.”

“Certainly,” Taeyong’s sly smile does little to qualm Sicheng’s growing nerves over their upcoming meeting.

That night, as Yuta collapses beside Sicheng, throwing an arm around his waist—a common practice these days, always making Sicheng’s heart flutter dangerously—he also eyes Sicheng with trepidation. “Is everything alright?” Yuta asks. 

Sicheng nods immediately. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You seem odd tonight,” Yuta muses, “just different. Is something making you nervous? Is it the babe?”

His husband seems more alert now, eyebrows pinched together in worry, and Sicheng takes it upon himself to quell all of his nerves. “No, Yuta, the babe is fine. He and I are getting along spectacularly these days.”

Yuta relaxes. “Oh. Then it must be something else.”

“I assure you,” Sicheng gently murmurs, “that _nothing_ is wrong.”

It tastes like poison, lying through his teeth like this. Sicheng cannot remember the last time he was as blatantly dishonest with his husband as he is being right now. The feeling settles like cold, dead weight in his stomach. It sickens him, the thought of meeting Taeyong and Doyoung in secret, no doubt to talk about _Yuta_ of all people.

“If that is what you say, then I believe you,” Yuta says, eyes slipping closed and sealing the ice inside of Sicheng’s chest.

“That is what I say,” Sicheng whispers as his husband falls asleep. Rest does not come easy to him that night.

***

Sicheng’s heart is in his throat as he enters the tea parlor two days later.

He is not entirely sure what he is supposed to be feeling, only that he knows no good can come from this meetings. Unsure of what Taeyong may have planned for him, the pressure is almost too much for Sicheng to bear.

He opens the door slowly, stepping inside and letting it slide shut behind him. Taeyong and Doyoung are perched at the center of the parlor, sitting primly in woven chairs at a tiny table. Taeyong perks up when he sets eyes on Sicheng, beckoning him over with wicked eyes that have Sicheng swallowing down bile that he knows is not his babe’s doing.

“Consort! Please, sit with us!” Taeyong greets cheerfully, bowing his head respectfully. Doyoung, on the other hand, as a low-ranked faerie and _guest_ of a member of the Islands’ court, stands from the table, bending over in more of a bow. 

Sicheng bows his head and turns towards both faeries, returning the greeting before sitting down at the remaining chair, perching himself awkwardly on the seat. It is as if he has never been out in public before, all social customs slipping his mind as he folds his hands in his lap and waits for further instruction.

“We are so glad you were able to join us,” Taeyong says warmly, eyes still glinting with something else.

Sicheng smiles tightly. “Well, you did invite me after all. I am nothing if I am rude to my peers, especially two fellow breeders.”

Doyoung flinches at the term, but says nothing, keeping his head respectfully bowed. It is a far cry from Sicheng’s first interaction with Doyoung, his biting voice still echoing in his head as he and Taeyong explained to him just what the Islands have been doing to faeries like them overseas.

“Yes,” Taeyong replies, for lack of anything else to say, “how do you like your tea, consort? We have a variety of selections for you to choose from.”

Sicheng’s stomach flips unpleasantly at the thought of sweetening his tea too much. Unfortunately, his babe has discovered that he is not a fan of sweets, and so Sicheng has had to stick to more savory food items, much to the amusement of Yuta, and everyone else, besides Sicheng. 

“I will just have lemon, thank you,” Sicheng answers plainly.

With a snap of his fingers, an aide appears at Taeyong’s side, and with a wave of his hand, the aide is filling Sicheng’s cup with tea, grabbing a pair of tongs and delicately balancing a thin lemon slice on top of it.

“I feel as though we have been here before,” Sicheng comments lightly. He remembers his last encounter with Taeyong vividly, in a parlor much like this. Remembers how quickly things escalated, how terrified Sicheng had been to see the truth lying right in front of his eyes.

Taeyong laughs in good nature, no doubt remembering the events just as Sicheng has. “Yes, you are certainly entertaining company to keep.”

Sicheng fights back a wince at the slight jab. One thing Sicheng has come to learn rather quickly is that Taeyong will always have the upper hand in a conversation. His way with words is not to be outdone by anyone, least of all Sicheng, who at most times is unfamiliar with customs and, no matter how hard he tries, just cannot outwit Taeyong at his own game.

“Can we skip past this part please?” Doyoung breaks the brief silence, tone colored in anger. “I should think that two faeries of importance would understand the gravity of what we are here to talk about.”

Sicheng blinks. Feeling difficult, he asks, “and what exactly is that?”

“Do not play coy, consort,” Doyoung’s eyes narrow, and it makes the faerie look that much fiercer than before, “Taeyong has told me you are no good at it.”

“I believe that would be Seo to you, _escort_ ,” Sicheng hisses, feeling triumphant when Doyoung’s cheeks color a ruddy red, from embarrassment or frustration or both. He turns his attention back to Taeyong, who is hiding a laugh behind his hand. “Now,” Sicheng redirects, “why have you requested an audience with me, Seo?”

Taeyong removes his hand from his face, remnants of his smirk still there. “Doyoung is right, this _is_ a matter of importance.”

Sicheng nods, prompting Taeyong to continue.

“There are certain…how should I phrase this,” Taeyong frowns, folding his hands together and placing them on the table in front of him. “There have been certain revelations made recently.”

Silence. Sicheng looks between Taeyong and Doyoung, waiting for the next word. When he does not get it immediately, he frowns.

“Is that it?” he asks incredulously. “‘Certain revelations’? Is this code for something?”

Doyoung scoffs meanly, which Sicheng diligently ignores.

“No, consort,” Taeyong huffs, looking slightly irritated. “I apologize for being vague. I just…it is quite delicate, this revelation.”

“Delicate how?” Sicheng asks, now nervous.

Taeyong hesitates. “I…” he trails off once again, looking to Doyoung, seemingly for support. Doyoung notices, rolls his eyes, then sits up in his seat, placing his own hands on the table as he leans his body forward. He looks at Sicheng intently, eyes cutting through and making him nervous all over again.

“Watch your back,” Doyoung says.

Sicheng feels his body spike with fear. “What?” he panics. “Why? What have you heard?”

“We cannot say,” Doyoung replies pragmatically, cutting his eyes over to Taeyong briefly, who nods once, before looking back over at Sicheng. There is still that coldness there, causing Sicheng to shiver and place a hand on his belly unconsciously. Doyoung’s eyes follow the movement, and while they narrow slightly at first, possibly in judgement, they eventually soften. “In your condition…just _please_ , consort, be careful.”

“What am I meant to do with that?” Sicheng asks, feeling himself get more and more desperate for answers. “How is this helpful in any way?”

“I wish we could be more helpful, consort, I truly do,” Taeyong says, and with every bit of malice that usually accompanies Taeyong’s words, he can hear how sincere he is now. “But we simply cannot say more than that.”

Sicheng sits back, dumbfounded.

“Unbelievable,” he utters. “The two of you are absolutely unbelievable. You drag me to this parlor in the middle of the week, knowing my condition and the effect stress has on it, and feed me vague rubbish?”

“If you are choosing not to listen to us, then by all means,” Doyoung sneers cruelly.

Sicheng glares, satisfaction curling around his distress when Doyoung falters, slouching slightly at the display of authority. “I will not ignore you,” he assures, “I would just like to know more about exactly _what_ it is that I am not ignoring.”

“It is sensitive, consort,” Taeyong insists, eyes shifting around the parlor. The aides have not moved an inch, and while Sicheng knows the palace is full of gossips, none seem to be paying much attention to the commotion in the middle of the parlor. “I am so, _so_ sorry that we cannot say more.”

Sicheng scoffs. “Forget this,” he spits, shoving away from the table and standing up in a flash. “You two are useless, stirring up trouble for no good reason other than your own amusement.”

“Heed our warning, consort,” Taeyong says, sounding more like a premonition than the husband of a lord’s son. “Do not take our words lightly.”

Sicheng throws open the parlor doors, letting them slam shut behind him.

***

It has always been a gift of Sicheng’s—being able to tell when something is wrong. The night before his mother’s ship returned home without her, Sicheng could not sleep, staying awake to watch the storm and wondering what it could mean.

That is why, when Ten shakes him awake much earlier than he is supposed to, Sicheng immediately knows that something is wrong.

“My prince,” Ten is whispering, grip on Sicheng’s nightclothes iron tight.

“What?” Sicheng asks blearily, batting Ten’s hand away. Yuta sleeps soundly beside him still, arms wrapped around Sicheng tightly, protectively, hands encasing his stomach. “Ten? Is something wrong?”

He cannot see Ten’s face in the darkness, but his silence says enough.

“What has happened?” he asks solemnly. “Ten, tell me.”

“My prince,” Ten whispers shakily, “there is nothing but darkness in these halls. Death lingers and punctures any open wounds it can find. This palace is a curse, it is a toxin. This palace is no good, no good at _all_."

Sicheng grows more alarmed as Ten continues to speak in riddles. “Ten, please,” he begs, “ _please_ , just tell me. What has happened?”

A pause. Sicheng hears Ten inhale shakily, wetly, and Sicheng cannot remember the last time he saw Ten cry.

“It is the King, my prince,” Ten sobs, “the King is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .........murder me in the comments, you know you want to.
> 
> the final chapter (that feels so weird to type) is coming soon.


	6. part six: a light so golden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cried like 6 times writing this. im a mess uploading it low key. still and yet, enjoy the final installment :)

part six: a light so golden

Cloaked in heavy, velvety black robes, Sicheng keeps his head respectfully bowed as the King’s body is carried through the palace halls. 

Beside him, Yuta keeps his hands clasped in front of him, gaze straight ahead, watching as his father’s body is carted towards the front of the hall, straight towards them. Sicheng itches to reach for him, to comfort him and to receive comfort back, but he knows now is not the time. It is disrespectful, not to mention incredibly inappropriate. And so, Sicheng keeps his head bowed, as the consort should, and waits for his husband’s touch to signal the next part of the procession.

The hall is somber, more silent than Sicheng has ever heard it, as hundreds line the halls, leading all the way out to the first exit of the palace, where thousands of the Islands’ citizens await, hands clasped and hands bowed, for the appearance of their new sovereign, their new King.

Sicheng shivers. His husband is to be crowned shortly. He will no longer be consort to a prince, but to a King.

Earlier, before Sicheng assumed his submissive position, he notices Taeil filing into the hall, walking beside Lord Jung’s son, Jaehyun. Then, to his astonishment, Jungwoo closely followed, keeping his gaze angled towards the ground as he dutifully followed Lord Moon. As Taeil assumed his place in line, Jungwoo stood behind him, back pressed against the wall. Sicheng could not help but notice that Jungwoo was not yet showing, subconsciously placing a hand against his own stomach that has yet to balloon as well. His stomach clenched at the sight of his former handmaid—his first public appearance since Sicheng removed him from his service—and Sicheng can only be glad that the court never paid much attention to Sicheng’s entourage, too busy gossiping over his supposed sex life and apparent infertility. 

“Good morrow,” a deep voice from the front of the hall booms, echoing off the walls and shocking Sicheng into a stance with better posture. Standing at the front of the hall beside his husband, the man’s voice seems that much louder. Daring a brief look to the side, Sicheng realizes it is Lord Seo, Youngho’s father.

“This is a day I thought would never come,” Lord Seo continues. “We are gathered to mourn the loss of a beloved King, and in his heavy absence, crown another.”

Sicheng can feel Yuta shift, but only slightly. He must appear absolutely still and resolute—the perfect leader for the Islands’ people.

“King Eunwoo was not only a benevolent ruler, but an admired one. He considered each and every citizen of the Islands his personal charge, and he spent his life in servitude of those charges, hoping to build a better future for his people and their children for generations to come.”

Sicheng has to clench his jaw to bite back a scoff. Whether the Islands are ready to admit to it or not, the King was _not_ a benevolent ruler. Selfish, yes. Over-indulgent, most definitely. _Vile_ , well, that remains to be seen. Either way, the King was involved—be it directly or indirectly—with the illegal trade of faeries from the Southern Forest and the Ports whilst at sea, and that in and of itself is proof that he does not deserve such a kind speech. Sick to his stomach, Sicheng struggles not to tune out the rest of Lord Seo’s eulogy.

“A cause of death has not yet been determined, but let it be known, we do not believe our King died of unnatural causes. While selfless and kind, the King was not in the best of health in his later years. We will always remember him as the brave, strong man that took charge all those years ago, and not as anything else. Now, his legacy of dedicated, relentless leadership is passed on to his only son, our dear Prince Yuta.”

The crowd lets out a mournful cry, which then turns into a sort of hopeful applause that Sicheng cannot help but admire. Beside him, Yuta has straightened himself out, made himself appear taller, bigger. It is now his moment to shine.

“Prince Yuta of the Islands is a man we are not yet entirely acquainted with,” Lord Seo states, and if Sicheng were to really pry, he would suspect there was an underlying tone of disdain in his words, “but he is clearly as strong a man as his father was. Prince Yuta will now lead the Islands out of this dark, dark time, and move us past the loss of our King into a new era of prosperity and light!”

The crowd roars and Sicheng feels his heart drop while also filling with a sense of pride. That is his _husband_ they all cheer for, the next King. He cannot help the flutter in his chest at the thought.

“I now ask Prince Yuta to join me in front of his subjects,” Lord Seo requests.

Yuta does as told, as is dictated by the same ritual that is performed across all kingdoms. When one King dies, another takes his place immediately afterward, and while the kingdom is allowed to mourn, there is no time to be wasted. Sicheng will now watch his husband, the father of his child, become King. Satisfaction fills him uncontrollably, and he smiles, finally allowed to raise his head in order to watch his husband be coronated.

Lord Seo clasps Yuta’s hands in his, his grip steady despite his age. Yuta keeps his eyes facing the crowd, not too cold and distant, but not weak. A show of strength, something the people desperately need right now.

“Prince Yuta,” Lord Seo says, “your time as heir apparent has now come to an end. For the rest of your days, you will rule as King of the Islands—a kingdom full of riches and people of all backgrounds and histories. Do you intend to continue the legacy of the Kim dynasty in your rule as a strong and benevolent King?”

“I do,” Yuta’s voice echoes louder than Lord Seo’s. A shiver runs down Sicheng’s spine.

“Do you promise to serve _every_ subject of the Islands, be them young or old, rich or poor, merchant or farmer, as all people of the Islands deserve to be governed equally and fairly?”

“I do.”

“And do you promise, Prince Yuta, to provide the kingdom with an heir to take your place, to honor the traditions of the Kings before you and raise up a son to take over once your days as a sovereign have passed?”

Sicheng flushes red as Yuta turns his gaze away from the sea of people, looking directly at Sicheng. He feels the eyes of the thousands of people occupying the hall look to him, murmuring amongst themselves as they gossip, once again, about his pregnancy. Sicheng watches as Yuta’s eyes darken with something he cannot explain, something he so desperately wishes will never leave him.

“I do,” Yuta answers, tearing his gaze away from Sicheng.

“Then, Prince Yuta, please step forward to receive your crown, and to graduate from Prince to King.”

An aide steps onto the dais, the former King’s crown pillowed on red velvet, and Yuta steps away from Lord Seo, kneeling down and bowing his head, showing his vulnerability to the people. Sicheng watches with ardent eyes as the aide places the crown on Yuta’s head, and he swears he can feel the power shift in the room. The crowd bustles quietly, all trying to get a good look as Yuta transforms into a King right in front of them.

Finally, Yuta stands from his crouch, the crown of the King resting on his head, its jewels gleaming in the light coming in from the stained glass windows. Yuta looks straight ahead, hands clasped in front of him.

“Citizens of the Islands, come far and wide,” Lord Seo announces, “it is my honor to present to you, King Yuta!”

The crowd bursts into deafening cheers. Sicheng grins, clapping and watching as Yuta carefully bows to his subjects, crown not moving an inch. He watches as Yuta’s eyes scan the hall, as if trying to memorize each of the thousands of faces, before falling to Sicheng once again. Sicheng watches as his husband seems to register what has happened, and begins to smile. Not a grin—that would seem too smug—but a soft smile that Sicheng usually only sees right before his husband falls asleep.

Yuta walks up to him, and Sicheng curls his arm around his King’s—as is he consort’s duty—and allows himself to be led out of the reception hall. The crowd continues to roar, but Yuta and Sicheng will continue celebrating privately, as the ceremony dictates. Sicheng hears several people’s footsteps behind him, but pays little mind to them. His husband is the _King_ , he no longer has to keep anybody else in mind.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” Lord Seo murmurs from behind them. Yuta stops in his tracks, turning around and facing the aging man. Sicheng does the same, registering the sad expression on the lord’s face. “May you serve our kingdom well.”

Yuta blinks. “I plan to.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Seo replies gracefully, undeterred by Yuta’s blunt tone.

Sicheng shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. Yuta and Lord Seo are clearly having two different conversations right now, and Sicheng feels as though he is not privy to either. It stings for some reason.

“Anything else?” Yuta asks flippantly, and Sicheng can feel Yuta’s arm tightening as he clenches his fist.

Lord Seo bows his head, conceding. “Your Grace, I merely want to inform you that Madame Kim would like to meet with you at your earliest convenience. Obviously, she will bend to your schedule. That is all.”

_Madame Kim_. Ever since her husband’s passing, the Queen’s status has been dissolved. If this were a fair and logical system, Sicheng would have been coronated alongside Yuta, with a title like Queen, given his status as a breeder and his ability to produce heirs. Unfortunately, the Islands are not like the Ports, they are not even like the Southern Forest, and so Sicheng is stuck with consort still, a title lower than Madame.

However, it does give Sicheng a sort of sick satisfaction to see the former Queen’s status diminish so instantaneously. Perhaps this is what she had been afraid of all along—that a bastard like Yuta would be hailed as “Your Grace”, while she is permanently demoted to Madame Kim from now until forever.

“Certainly,” Yuta quips. “Now, if you will excuse me…”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Seo bows once more before finally walking away, leaving Yuta and Sicheng alone in the hallway.

Yuta looks over at Sicheng, and all at once Sicheng feels the rush of pride and power flowing back into him, that same rush he had watching his husband get crowned as King. He feels his dick harden and his entrance grow slicker, and he leans closer to his husband, letting his eyes darken for Yuta to see.

“Your Grace,” Sicheng croons lowly, “it has been a long few days, has it not?”

Yuta’s eyes trace Sicheng’s face, growing hungrier as the seconds tick by. Sicheng waits with bated breath as his husband’s hand curls up around Sicheng’s arm before clasping around his thin bicep, tugging him closer and causing Sicheng to nearly stumble on his own two feet.

“It has,” Yuta agrees, “what shall we do with this break we find ourselves with?”

“I am sure Your Grace has a few ideas that could keep us entertained,” Sicheng whispers back.

Yuta grins wickedly, shoving away from Sicheng and walking briskly down the hallway, tugging him along behind him. Sicheng stumbles and nearly trips and falls, but he obediently follows his husband nonetheless. He leads them around a sharp corner, then shoves Sicheng into the wall, cornering him in a convenient little alcove hidden from the average busybody. Sicheng’s heart races as he looks upon his husband’s face and takes in the regality he imposes.

“What?” Yuta breathes, and Sicheng shivers as it fans over his face. “Have you lost your nerve, consort?”

Sicheng cannot help but let out a whimper. “No, Your Grace,” he replies, feeling petulant, “certainly not.”

Yuta hums, leaning even closer. Sicheng lets out a barely controlled whine as Yuta tongues his way up Sicheng’s ear, planting little nips and kisses along his earlobe before landing on his neck. He shoves his head to the side, granting him more access as he hikes one leg up and around Yuta’s waist, pulling him in even closer. 

“What would my lover like?” Yuta asks, not unkindly, and Sicheng rolls his hips in want. “What would my he wish for me to do to him?”

Sicheng claws at the back of Yuta’s robes desperately, uncaring that he is moment sway from ripping through the expensive material. “I-I want—“ he breaks off when Yuta’s teeth clamp down on the skin at the base of his throat, just to the right of his collarbone. “ _Unh_ ,” he gasps out desperately.

“Hmm?” Yuta teases at Sicheng’s skin, tugging at it with his teeth. Sicheng bucks his hips again, whining when Yuta’s hands pin them back against the wall with a strength and certainty that makes Sicheng want to melt into the floor.

“Y-Your Grace,” Sicheng manages to moan out, “p-please—!”

Yuta slides a hand into Sicheng’s pants, deliberately bypassing his throbbing cock and sliding two fingers into his entrance. He pumps his fingers ruthlessly, hitting that spot inside of Sicheng that Yuta can now find instantaneously, after weeks and weeks of practicing.

“Tell me,” Yuta purrs, “tell your King what you want, my love.”

Sicheng’s knees buckle, but Yuta’s strength keeps him from sliding to the floor. “I-I want—“ he breaks off with a high keen, a noise he was not even sure he could make in the first place.

“What?” Yuta goads, fingers still pumping inside of Sicheng insistently. “Last chance. What does my lover want?”

Sicheng clutches to Yuta’s robes desperately, body shaking from head to toe. “H-He wants his King to f-fuck him!” Sicheng wails out. “P-Please, Your Grace. Please, fuck me!”

Yuta’s fingers pause, and Sicheng fights down the mournful whine threatening to spill out of his throat, clamping his mouth shut for good measure.

“Your wish is my command, my love.”

Yuta spins Sicheng around to face the wall, and he braces his hands against it just in case. His pants are shoved down his legs, stopping around his knees before Yuta gives up. In an instant, Yuta’s cock is shoved between his cheeks, and he spreads his legs instinctually, giving his husband just enough room to slide home.

He gasps out his pleasure as his husband’s groan rings up and down the echoed hallway. Sicheng flushes red at the thought of a palace handmaid stumbling upon them, but he shoos the thought away when Yuta begins pounding into him, abandoning all caution for the sake of seeking pleasure.

Sicheng feels his body betraying him, and he comes instantly, back arching and body shivering as his orgasm washes over him prematurely. He squeezes around Yuta’s cock, and he is rewarded by a harsh slap landing on his ass, Yuta’s thrusts unforgiving as he continues to seek his own orgasm. He feels like he is floating, his spirit somewhere far away as his body is used for his husband’s pleasure, as it has been many times before. Sicheng feels like a plaything, out in the open for anyone to see, and it is invigorating, the way Yuta can make him feel like this within minutes. Sicheng has never felt pleasure like this before.

He comes once more before Yuta finally comes with a loud moan that he tactfully hides in Sicheng’s hair, bowing over his body as he thrusts in one more time, milking his own orgasm for as long as he can. Sicheng looks down and flushes at the sight of his own spunk splattered on the wall in front of him, allows himself to feel shame before satisfaction clouds his judgement once again.

“Is my King satisfied?” Sicheng asks breathlessly.

Yuta hums, planting warm, wet kisses along the back of Sicheng’s neck. “Of course I am,” he whispers back, “I always am with you.”

Sicheng blushes as Yuta turns him back around, pulling his pants back up and securing them once again before kissing him, slowly and softly, on the lips. When he pulls away, Sicheng sees the fondness in Yuta’s eyes.

“You have hardly ever left my side since my father died,” Yuta says, “though I am sure you would have rather been somewhere else. You stayed by my side.”

“That is my duty,” Sicheng replies shyly, averting his gaze.

Yuta is silent for a moment, before his fingers slide around Sicheng’s chin, cupping it and pulling him to face him once again. “No,” he murmurs, “that is not all there is to it.”

“I have responsibilities as your consort,” Sicheng says, “there are very few, yes, but there are some. What kind of husband would I be if I did not stay by you in your time of need?”

Yuta smiles ruefully. “You and I both know there was no love lost between my father and I. He was hardly a father to me at all. Had I not had that letter from my mother, I would have cast aside.”

“Maybe so,” Sicheng muses as he runs his hands up and down Yuta’s chest, “but still, you have lost a parent. That means something.”

“I thank you either way,” Yuta responds insistently. “You…you mean a lot to me, Sicheng.”

Sicheng’s heart pounds. “I—“

“I should be going,” Yuta blurts out, pulling away from Sicheng suddenly. “My stepmother wishes to see me.”

Sicheng blinks. “I…heard Lord Seo earlier.”

“Right.” They stare at each other, unblinking, for a few moments too long. “Well, I shall see you later.”

“Alright.”

Sicheng watches his husband pull away from him entirely, walking away and leaving Sicheng alone in the alcove. He cannot help but notice how much colder the air got the instant he was left alone.

***

The next few weeks are difficult. Yuta is hardly around, and with Ten colder and more distant than ever, Sicheng has never felt more lonely in his life. 

Sicheng does not necessarily blame either Yuta or Ten for their extended absences from his daily routine at the moment. It seems as though Ten is still beyond furious with Sicheng for any number of reasons, and Yuta’s responsibilities as King just keep piling on as the days progress. It astounds Sicheng that Yuta seems to have _so_ many duties as King, when it never seemed as though his father had too much going on at a time. Though the late King also never seemed to be very engaged in the Islands’ political affairs. Sometimes, Sicheng wishes that Yuta was more like his father and decide to delegate everything to other people so that he does not have many personal responsibilities, but this is the way Yuta likes to rule, clearly. Who is Sicheng to have an opinion about that?

Still, it is difficult to feel as though he and his husband have taken multiple steps backwards. Rather than continuing to step forward in their lives, spending more time together and sharing their feelings with each other, Sicheng once again falls asleep most nights alone and wakes up on an empty bed, Yuta’s side freezing cold as a result of his continued absence.

And it _certainly_ does not help that, as Sicheng progresses further with his pregnancy and begins to hit important milestones, _Madame Kim_ of all people is the one who seems to have glued herself to Sicheng’s side. As Sicheng continues to meet with the palace physician and receive updates on his pregnancy, all he wants to do is share the news with his husband, his child’s _father_. And all he seems to be able to do is share these moments with his husband’s evil stepmother.

It is a testament to Sicheng’s patience that he does not have a nervous breakdown. Or worse.

“Are you going to be terribly busy tomorrow?” Sicheng tentatively asks on a rare night when Yuta’s retired to their bedchambers before the moon is high in the sky.

Yuta glances over his shoulder as he falls into bed, quickly turning over on his side to look down at Sicheng once he has. “I believe so, why?”

Sicheng holds back a sigh. “It is nothing. I was just…hoping to spend some time with in the daylight.”

“Oh,” Yuta seems startled and pleasantly surprised. Sicheng has always found it curious how Yuta seems to always be thrown off whenever Sicheng admits out loud that he enjoys Yuta’s company. “I apologize then. There are detail changes in our overseas trade agreements that I need to oversee. My stepmother has been pressing the issue for weeks now, I cannot ignore it any longer.”

_That_ certainly catches Sicheng’s attention. “Overseas trade agreements?” he asks, feigning innocent curiosity.

“Yeah,” Yuta nods, oblivious, “my stepmother wishes to take over any and all paperwork concerning that and I….to be frank, I am too tired to argue with her over it.”

Sicheng’s heart thuds dangerously in his chest. He can feel his stomach tightening, prays that it does not hurt his growing babe.

“Since when has Madame Kim had an interest in foreign policy?” Sicheng asks, trying to sound lighthearted but knowing, to the trained ear, he must come off as skittish. From the way Yuta’s eyebrow raises as he appraises Sicheng, it seems as though his husband has caught on.

“I do not question her intentions. She only mildly bothers me on her best days and is an absolute thorn in my side on her worst, has been since I moved into the palace to officially be named as heir. If she wants to handle overseas trade agreements, who am I to contest? As a ruler, it is my job to delegate, heaven knows my father did plenty of it when he was King.”

Sicheng sucks in a sharp breath and has to fight off a cough when it scratches his throat too harshly. Yuta looks concerned now, if not slightly suspicious.

“Is there a problem that I should be made aware of?” Yuta asks poignantly.

Feeling trapped, Sicheng shakes his head quickly, ignoring the fact that it makes him slightly nauseous. “No! None at all. I was merely curious. I…will not ask about your work again.”

Yuta softens at that, inching closer to Sicheng and resting a hand on his hair, fingers playing with some of the longer locks. “That is _not_ what I was insinuating,” Yuta says softly. “Honestly, it pleases me that you take an interest in my work like this. You have always been far too smart to just be a consort. I knew that before I even had a proper conversation with you.”

Sicheng feels his cheeks warm up, body absolutely buzzing at the thought of Yuta finding him intelligent. A part of him is sad that he has set the bar so low, but the larger majority of his brain knows that Yuta even admitting he finds Sicheng to be even the slightest bit intelligent is more than he could have ever hoped from him. As sad as it may be, it shows that Yuta has grown from the man who saw Sicheng as little other than a toy at his disposal when he wanted pleasure.

“I am so glad you see me differently,” Sicheng murmurs, reaching up to cup Yuta’s face with one hand. “Everyone else in this palace sees me as a means to an end or a signature on a piece of parchment that forged the alliance between our two kingdoms. I really feel as though you see me, _truly_.”

Yuta smiles. He closes the gap between them to kiss Sicheng properly, and his blood sings as their bodies press together, Sicheng’s growing bump forming a small bumper between them. Yuta breaks the kiss and looks down at Sicheng’s stomach. Before Sicheng can feel insecure about it, Yuta reaches down and smooths his palm over his belly, hand curved over where he has begun to round out.

“I have not asked lately,” Yuta breathes out, sounding vulnerable, “but, how is our babe?”

_Our_. Sicheng could sob with joy. “He is wonderful,” Sicheng whispers back. “The past few visits with the palace physician have been splendid. He is growing steadily, he seems healthy, and I am apparently gaining _just the right amount of weight_.” He says the last bit with a high-pitched voice, a clear imitation of Madame Kim.

Yuta laughs softly, catching on. “Has my dear stepmother been bothering you about your pregnancy lately? Afraid too much time alone will turn our heir into a princess?”

“Perhaps,” Sicheng muses jokingly, “or she seeks to annoy the babe out of me earlier than expected so that an heir can be named and I can be properly disposed of once I have met my full use.”

It is meant to be a joke, though it is not as lighthearted as it could be, Sicheng admits to himself. Still, it is sobering watching a dark expression cast a shadow over Yuta’s features. Any hint of a smile that was on Sicheng’s face disappears as Yuta seems to grow steadily more serious as the seconds tick by.

“I will not let that happen,” Yuta declares, voice loud and deep. It sends chills down Sicheng’s spine, but he tells himself that his husband merely did not get the joke.

“I-I know, Yuta. I was making a joke—“

“She will not take you away from me,” Yuta plunders on. “I will not let her.”

Sicheng feels like his heart could beat out of its chest. “Do you mean it? Truly?”

“Of course I mean it,” Yuta answers, locking gazes with Sicheng and making Sicheng afraid to look away. “I do not care if your purpose has been served once our babe is born. I do not care if she seeks to replace you with a more ‘suitable’ arrangement. I am King. Your status in the palace is not up to her. You are _my_ consort, not hers.”

Sicheng gasps. “Yuta—“

“I love you,” Yuta says, and Sicheng feels like he is floating. “You are not being disposed of, not on my watch.”

“Y—“ Sicheng blubbers. He feels like a fool, but his husband has just said those magical words, and all of a sudden, nothing makes sense anymore. “You love me?” he manages to whimper out, sounding like a child and feeling so _so_ pitiful.

Yuta blinks, and Sicheng watches as his husband seems to snap out of a literal trance, eyes focusing on somewhere above Sicheng’s head as his cheeks pink up under Sicheng’s gaze. “Um,” he stumbles, “I—“

“I love you too,” Sicheng blurts out, before Yuta can change his mind and take it back or switch his words around to mean something else, like he knows his husband is prone to do. “I love you more than I thought I could.”

“Oh,” Yuta responds, sounding every bit as stupid as Sicheng did earlier.

Sicheng grins. “I no longer feel like a prisoner here. I feel alive. It is because of _you_. I have fallen in love with you, Your Grace.”

Yuta presses their lips together once again. Sicheng clutches on for as long as he can, feeling his heart thump against his chest, wanting to rip it open and burst out of him. He feels like soaring through the air, like sprouting wings and flying away like the faeries in the ancient texts apparently used to do. He wants to sing, dance, and laugh to his heart’s content, wants to never leave this moment. Wants to always feel this warm, this safe, in the arms of a man who loves him. 

“I do not know what to say,” Yuta breathes against Sicheng’s lips.

“Me neither,” Sicheng replies, “though I feel there is not much left to say. Let us just be together right now.”

“Alright,” Yuta says into Sicheng’s mouth as he seals their lips back together. They do not part until the moon sets back into the earth and the sun rises high to take her place.

***

It feels like deja vu, or something similar, when Sicheng jolts awake at the feeling of a thin, cold hand pressing against his shoulder, roughly shaking him awake. Yuta’s side of the bed is empty, but Sicheng cannot think about that as he looks up at Ten’s frightened face.

“What are you doing in here?” Sicheng asks. Cold dread seeps into his stomach. “Did something happen to Yuta?”

Ten’s terrified expression morphs into something cruel and cold. “That _that_ is where your mind goes first proves to me that you have not been paying attention at _all_.” He throws back the sheets, exposing Sicheng to the cold air. “Get up. There is an emergency.”

“What emergency?” Sicheng asks. “Where is Yuta?”

Ten rolls his eyes. “I cannot _believe_ that _I_ am the one that has to do this. Your Highness, _get up_. We do not have time to waste.”

“I am confused,” Sicheng pushes back, reaching down and trying to gather the sheets back up around him, scowling at Ten when he lightly slaps Sicheng’s hands out of the way. “You are my handmaid. I require further explanation.”

“ _Fine!_ ” Ten hisses. “You want an explanation? I shall offer you one. You are in danger. I am here to escort you away from your bedchambers before the guards tasked with smothering you in your sleep arrive. There, are you happy?”

Sicheng gasps, feeling that familiar cold weight of terror pressing deep into his chest. “That cannot be true.”

“Do not act like a fool, Your Highness,” Ten scolds, “you are better than that.”

“Who—“ Sicheng shakes his head. “Who w-would do this? Who would o-order me d-dead?”

Ten sighs, having the decency to look sympathetic as he gazes down at Sicheng. “Who do you think?”

Sicheng stares at Ten, waiting for his expression to change, waiting for a large grin and an evil twinkle in his eyes to settle in. He waits for this all to become one large joke, a convincing trick that his handmaid has concocted to keep him on his toes. 

Except Ten has been avoiding Sicheng like he carries a deadly disease for weeks. He has sent lowly palace servants in his place every morning to bathe and dress Sicheng, and every night as well when it is time to scrub away the filth of the day before he sleeps. Ten has all but disappeared from Sicheng’s daily routine, and he would have complained to somebody about it if he did not know it would lead to Ten being severely punished, or worse, sent back home.

Ten looks back at him, unblinking, and stone cold realization sets in, heavy with betrayal and heartbreak.

“ _No_ ,” Sicheng voice cracks as his world crumbles around him, “no, _no_ , you are _lying_. It is not true.”

“We have no time, Your Highness,” Ten says calmly. “Please, just come with me.”

“But—“ Sicheng blubbers uselessly, hands trembling as tears pour down his face. He looks out the window and sees rain splattering against the glass, lightning cracking in the sky, lighting it up like a beautiful horror that he cannot look away from.

Ten sighs once again, and Sicheng kicks himself into motion, standing from the bed and attempting to smooth out the crinkles in his nightclothes. 

“Yuta is not responsible for this,” Sicheng insists brokenly. “I know my husband. He did not do this.”

Unwavering, Ten reaches out a hand for Sicheng. “We need to go, Your Highness.”

Sicheng laces his fingers with Ten’s and allows himself to be led away from his bedchambers—he and Yuta’s shared bedchambers—and down the hallway. Sicheng’s steps are near silent, his bare feet hardly touching the freezing cold ground as Ten walks down the hallway with intent. Sicheng feels like he is being spun around in all different directions as Ten leads him down twisting hallway after twisting hallway, each with a sharper turn than the last. They dash down a spiral staircase and cut down a hallway so narrow that they cannot walk side by side before Ten finally stops in front of a dingy wooden door.

“Where are we?” Sicheng asks breathlessly.

Ten offers Sicheng a wry smile, the first little spark of positive emotion he has seen from him in a long time. “These are the handmaids’ quarters.”

He pushes the door open and steps inside, leaving Sicheng no choice but to follow him. The door creaks shut behind him, and just as he hears the lock shift back into place, Sicheng immediately wishes he could turn around and walk back out.

“We have to stop meeting under these circumstances, consort,” Taeyong drawls with a sly smile on his face. Beside him, Doyoung looks up from inspecting his nails to roll his eyes. 

Sicheng glares at the pair of rather unhelpful faeries. “Are you serious?” he asks, turning to glance at Ten, who can only offer a one-armed shrug and an eyebrow raise. “Is this another trick to have a conversation that leaves me with nothing but confusion for the next week?”

“I am afraid not,” Taeyong replies, tone too even, too perfectly steady. “What Ten has told you is correct. An order for your death was announced just this afternoon.”

Sicheng swallows bile. “I feel sick,” he spits out, “and how do you know Ten?”

“I suppose, by now, we should know that you are not purposefully playing the fool when you ask such questions,” Doyoung says, “you are just that oblivious to your surroundings.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Sicheng asks.

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “How long have you known that the Islands have been kidnapping and selling faeries? How long have you known about the coming war? Did you not think we were collecting reinforcements all this time?”

“What?” Sicheng looks over at Ten once again as realization finally starts to sink in.

“Ten has been spying for us nearly all along,” Taeyong explains. “Somebody had to keep an eye on things, make sure you did not get too close to the wrong people. Who better than your personal handmaid? Jungwoo would have done nicely, given that you seemed to like him more than Ten, but, well, we all saw how _that_ turned out. Ten was the most obvious choice.”

Stunned, Sicheng can only nod. Hurt does not even _begin_ to cover the range of emotions expanding inside of him.

“Enough,” Doyoung drawls, “not only is this conversation boring, but we are due for company momentarily. It is time to move on.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Of course, because whatever you say goes—“

“Do you not think that the man with a death warrant deserves to know just _how_ we came across this information?” Doyoung interrupts coldly, perfectly waxed eyebrow arched. In this moment, he looks every bit the part of the detached faerie escort hired to drape himself across the lap of Lord Jung’s son: regal, yet unrefined in a way that arouses men like him.

“For what it is worth,” Sicheng interjects, “I _would_ like to know. Very much so.”

Sicheng watches as Taeyong and Doyoung exchange a heated look before both settle their eyes back on Sicheng, each masked with an indifference that Sicheng would be impressed by if he were not so terrified.

“My husband told me,” Taeyong admits. “His father heard it mentioned at a Council meeting. He was quick to inform my husband, who in turn informed Doyoung and I. From there, we came up with our plan.”

“Do you mean to tell me that the entire Council is aware of and supports my death?” Sicheng asks incredulously. His mind wanders to Yuta, wonders if his husband knows, if his husband _orchestrated_ all of this—

“Lord Seo was not meant to overhear this news,” Taeyong explains. “ _Whoever_ ordered the attack on you, it was not with the full backing of the Council. It was rather stupid of them to discuss it for anyone to overhear, but it plays to our advantage.”

Sicheng hates himself for the immediate relief that courses through him. “So you do not know who ordered for my death?”

“Your Highness,” Ten interjects coldly, “do not entertain what I think you are. In all likelihood, the King ordered your death. There is a reason he was not in bed with you when I arrived to awake you and bring you here.”

Sicheng blinks back tears, trying desperately to quell his anger. He does not believe he is wrong in wishing for Yuta’s innocence, but he has to force himself to understand Ten’s perspective. The reality is, Yuta’s involvement or lack thereof in all of this is completely up in the air, and that kills Sicheng inside.

There is a swift knock on the door, nearly rattling the old wood off of its hinges. Sicheng jumps, instinctively resting a hand on his belly. Ten tracks the movement before rolling his eyes, walking over to the door with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Relax,” his handmaid says, “this is just the next part of the plan.”

He opens the door, and Sicheng cannot control when his mouth gapes open as Taeil and Jungwoo walk through the door. 

“ _What_?” Sicheng yelps, immediately clapping a hand over his mouth afterwards.

Taeil smiles his same kind, understanding smile. “Hello, Sicheng. I hope you have been well.” Beside him, Jungwoo bounces on the balls of his feet, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He looks desperate, and Sicheng cannot help the swell of want and familiarity of Jungwoo’s presence in front of him.

“W-Why are you here?” he asks instead. “H-How do you—“

“How do they know?” Taeyong interjects, looking particularly smug and making Sicheng wish he could get away with slapping him across the face. “Lord Moon has been in on this the entire time. Ever since he arrived to the palace, he has done the work to try and prevent certain trading routes from being extorted.”

Taeil looks sullen now. “It has hardly worked, I am afraid.” Jungwoo places a delicate hand on Taeil’s shoulder, a comfort. Sicheng tracks the movement, unable to tear his eyes away from his former handmaiden.

“The King told me that Madame Kim has taken over overseas trading,” Sicheng says. There is still a too large part of him that refuses to believe that his husband is behind the threat on his life. “ _She_ is responsible for all of this, not him.”

Taeil sighs and, to his credit, he looks guilty. “We cannot know for sure that my brother is not behind this. For all we know, he and Madame Kim are working together and orchestrated the threat on your life while collaborating.”

Sicheng balks, looking around the room. No one seems very surprised by what Taeil has accidentally let slip.

Taeil’s eyes glint knowingly. “They all already know that I am the late King’s first bastard son.”

“So,” Ten chimes in, his expression souring, “you _knew_ that you were married to an illegitimate prince? You knew that the throne was someone else’s to claim, and watched as your husband be wrongfully crowned?”

Sicheng frowns, eyes flickering over to Taeil to gauge his reaction. As usual, he remains composed, frustratingly so. Jungwoo is the one who seems to be losing composure, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks turning pink. 

“I sat idly by, as is a consort’s place,” Sicheng replies, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “Do you know what would have happened to me had I spoken up about any of this? This threat on my life would only be the beginning of what they would have done to me.”

“Do not act like you would have spoken up even if you could have,” Ten glares, “you simply do not care enough to do that.”

“And so what if I do not?” Sicheng challenges. “Is it truly my responsibility to ensure the legitimacy of the line of succession of a kingdom that is not my own? Does that sound _anything_ like what lies within my list of duties here? Or anything I was responsible for back in the Forest?”

“You do not get to speak of the Forest,” Ten spits out, “not after you have betrayed them so.”

“How have I betrayed them?” Sicheng cries.

“You carry the child of a man that is personally responsible for the capture and enslavement of your kind!” Ten screams, face turning red from the pressure. “You have turned your back on _every_ faerie between here and the Forest and the Ports, and it seems to me that you do not care one bit! You prance around this castle, show off your growing belly, and say nothing of the atrocities that have been taking place—atrocities that _you_ have known about all along—right under everybody’s noses! It is _despicable_!”

The following silence is deafening. Sicheng looks around the room to take in everyone’s reactions. Doyoung’s eyes are carefully trained on the floor, Taeyong beside him looking rather defiant, as if daring Sicheng to have another opinion. Jungwoo stands close behind Taeil, clutching his hand tightly. He, too, stares at the ground, while Taeil looks at Sicheng, eyes as gentle as they always are. It is that that causes Sicheng to break down into tears.

He feels the silence grow tense and awkward as he bends over and cries. Sicheng knows that no one in this room is particularly sympathetic of him—that much is clear as it becomes more and more obvious to Sicheng that this is just as much an ambush as it is a rescue mission. Sicheng feels a pair of arms slip around him, and he fools himself for a moment into thinking it is Yuta—his dear husband—wrapping his warm, strong arms around him and keeping him safe and protected from any outside dangers.

“There, there,” he hears Jungwoo’s soft voice murmuring into his ear, “it will all be alright, Your Highness. I am here.”

Sicheng whimpers, turning and tucking his head into Jungwoo’s neck. He feels like a fool. The one person who has the most reason to hate him is the only one in the room willing to comfort him. He has done everything all wrong.

“I am so sorry,” Sicheng sobs out, feeling even more pitiful as Jungwoo cradles the back of his head with one hand. “I am so, _so_ sorry. I cannot believe what I did to you, how I treated you. I cannot believe that I spoke to you that way.”

“Hush now,” Jungwoo replies soothingly, “those words were Madame Kim’s, not yours. Stress is not good for your babe, Your Highness, it is time to calm down.”

Sicheng breathes deeply, trying to pinch off whines before he lets them out and embarrasses himself further. Jungwoo breathes with him, and Sicheng can feel the swell of his former handmaid’s belly, rising and falling against him. It only serves to further remind him of the awful words he spoke against somebody he considered a dear friend.

“Are you alright now?” Jungwoo asks softly.

Sicheng nods tentatively, knowing that even though he is not all the way fine, there is not much time left for him to get himself together.

“Fantastic,” Taeyong drawls, breaking up the moment and proving Sicheng’s point. “Now that that is all said and done, you lot need to get a move on. They have certainly realized by now that Sicheng is not in his bedchambers, so they will be searching the entirety of the palace. Three guesses as to where they will search first.”

Of course. The bedchambers of his handmaid. Where else would he be?

“Sicheng,” Taeil says, “Jungwoo and I will be taking you far away from the palace. My mother’s home is just outside of the city, but it is well hidden. No one will find the two of you out there.”

“The two of—“ Sicheng looks at Jungwoo, who looks back at him with as much devotion in his eyes as he has had since he was assigned to Sicheng’s charge all those years ago. “You will be staying there with me?”

Jungwoo nods. “Someone has to make sure you bathe and feed yourself,” he says teasingly, the most he has ever allowed himself to joke with Sicheng, having always been too afraid to out of respect for him.

Sicheng smiles. “Of course,” he replies, a sign of good faith. Jungwoo sighs with relief.

“We need to be going now,” Taeil gently urges from the doorway.

Sicheng looks at Ten, so many words on the tip of his tongue. Instead, Ten turns away, as stubborn and foolhardy as always. 

“Do not,” Ten says nastily, “just go.”

Obeying, Sicheng turns briefly towards Taeyong and Doyoung. He nods his head briefly, watching as the two faeries do the same in return. There are so many things Sicheng could say to either one of them, but words would not suffice. Besides, time is of the essence, and it is something Sicheng has run out of.

Sicheng allows Taeil and Jungwoo to all but drag him out of the room, the knowledge that he may never see Ten again flowing through his mind. Should he have said something? Ten did not seem as though he wanted him to, but perhaps he could have anyway? Was that his duty? He feels like he owes something to Ten, words of affirmation, affection, or maybe an explanation? Either way, Sicheng feels like he is leaving something important behind, with no real way of fixing it. 

The door swings shut, creaking loudly on its old hinges, and as Sicheng turns the corner down the hallway and out of the palace, he cannot help but feel cheated.

***

Jungwoo stays true to his word, and as both he and Sicheng’s bellies swell, he cooks and cleans for Sicheng, ensuring that he never has to lift a finger. When Sicheng tries to complain about it, Jungwoo simply clucks his teeth at Sicheng with a smile that is already sort of motherly. “You are my Prince,” Jungwoo always says, “it is my job to look after you.”

Sicheng thinks that perhaps that excuse has run its course, especially given that both he and Jungwoo are expecting soon. The months have rolled by quickly, and Sicheng can feel his babe growing larger and larger as the minutes tick by. According to the town’s physician that visits he and Jungwoo, with discretion, every so often, Sicheng is due to give birth any day now. 

It feels like it, with the way he waddles around the tiny hut that Taeil calls home. Sicheng knows Taeil’s mother owned and lived in this house, and that is the only reason Sicheng keeps all of his comments about its size to himself. He and Jungwoo make their way around it just fine, but he cannot help but think that it will only get more difficult when they have two infants to squeeze into it as well.

Sicheng has also become more and more anxious as his apparent due date approaches. In the palace, the custom after a royal heir is born is to allow for a few days of bonding time, wherein Sicheng would have near uninterrupted days’ worth of rest with his babe. Afterwards, however, the little one would be under the care of wet nurses, and when he grew old enough, tutors. Sicheng was never going to be doing the bulk of the childrearing. Or at least, that was the original plan. 

Now, in this tiny house, Sicheng has long since reconciled the fact that he is never going to be able to return to the palace. Taeil visits every so often—though not nearly as often as Jungwoo needs, if the way he cries himself to sleep most nights is any indication—but when he does, he only means to see if Jungwoo and Sicheng are still healthy and coping living together in his mother’s home. He hardly ever offers information about palace life, and when he does, it is always the most contrite pieces of information—things that Taeil must know Sicheng does not truly care about. He never speaks of Yuta or the Council or Madame Kim. He never even speaks about policy. Sicheng appreciates Taeil’s added company after weeks and weeks of nothing but the four walls of the house and Jungwoo, but if he has to hear one more update about the affair between the fry cook and the servant, he may combust.

It is another day in the middle of another week, as boring as it gets, when there is a telltale knock on the door. Sicheng jumps before remembering that it is Taeil’s special signature. He always manages to forget. It is most likely the babe that is clouding his judgement.

Jungwoo skips to the door as fast as his ballooning midsection allows him. He throws open the door, latching his arms around Taeil’s neck and leaning down for a kiss. Sicheng has to look away as the two make eyes at each other, Taeil no doubt cradling Jungwoo’s bump and asking all sorts of questions about their babe’s health. Sicheng wants to be happy for his former handmaiden, he truly does, but the heartbreak of his husband’s possible betrayal and subsequent absence make it too hard for Sicheng to care even a little bit about the status of Jungwoo and Taeil’s love affair.

“I come bearing news,” Taeil says as he steps inside the house. Jungwoo closes the door behind him and dutifully guides him to sit on the sofa Sicheng currently occupies the other end of, kneeling at his lover’s feet and gazing up at him with rose-filtered eyes. Sicheng turns away and fights off the rise of sickness in his stomach at the sight. It is far too dramatic.

“What sort of news?” Jungwoo asks, ever the faithful little faerie bride. Sicheng has no idea if they even plan on getting married, if that is even a remote possibility for them, but the way Jungwoo behaves indicates that they have already held the ceremony.

Taeil glances at Sicheng, a knowing glint in his eyes. Instinctually, Sicheng leans forward.

“King Yuta has abdicated the throne,” Taeil says, eyes sparkling with something else that Sicheng cannot put his finger on. “Shortly after he left the palace, Madame Kim was found dead in her bedchambers. Self-poisoning, the palace physician claimed.”

Jungwoo gasps and begins asking all sorts of questions, but Sicheng does not hear a single one of them. That cannot be right. Abdication? After everything Yuta went through to be crowned King, he gives it up? Just like that? And self-poisoning? Sicheng would drop dead by suicide long before Madame Kim would, even with his babe still inside of him. Nothing is adding up.

“That does not make any sense,” Sicheng says, cutting off whatever Jungwoo was spouting off to Taeil with his pitiful, puppy dog expression.

Taeil arches an eyebrow. “Which part? The abdication or the poisoning?”

“All of it,” Sicheng glares. “You know none of that makes sense, so why tell us unless it is a part of a story. Before this, you have never once indicated to me that my husband was alive and well, or devastated and searching the ends of the world for me. Why should I believe that this is true? After months of silence?”

“I understand that you must be confused, but—“

“No,” Sicheng interjects, “what is _confusing_ is that it seems that you have been deliberately keeping information about my husband from me, all while talking about trivial everyday palace gossip. Am I meant to be grateful that you are deciding _now_ to keep me updated? Shall I grovel at your feet for more tidbits on his wellbeing?”

Taeil smiles in that frustrating, all-knowing way he seems to have perfected since all of this started. “I do not expect anything from you, Sicheng.”

Sicheng scoffs, but keeps silent otherwise. Jungwoo is growing restless on the floor, and the last thing he wants is to trigger an early birth due to stress.

“I am sorry for not keeping you updated prior to this,” Taeil says, and it sounds so earnest that Sicheng has a hard time not believing it. “To tell you the truth, it has been agonizing keeping everything from you. And, honestly, most of what has happened in the palace since you have left is not my story to share.”

Sicheng perks up. He understands _that_ implication. “You mean it is Yuta’s story, do you not? Is he coming here to tell me? Has he run away too? What is going on?”

“I believe Yuta is long gone at this juncture,” Taeil explains, having the decency to look sympathetic. “There is no way to know for sure, of course, but there is no indication that he would come here looking for you. He has no idea where you even are.”

Sicheng feels his heart sink. Every time he begins to feel hope that his husband will be returned to him, it is immediately taken away. In the months of exile and isolation, Sicheng has long since reconciled that the reality of being reunited with Yuta is not one he should look forward to, lest he be disappointed. Still, to think that Sicheng went through everything he did to get to the Islands, to marry a man he knew next to nothing about, lie with him, have his heir, and learn to love him, only to have him taken away? It is cruel. His babe will be born soon, and he will never know his father’s touch, or the warmth he used to bring to Sicheng’s life. He will only know Sicheng, and he is not sure he can be enough for his child. Sicheng needs Yuta, but he cannot have him.

“Are you certain?” Jungwoo asks quietly, and when Sicheng glances up he sees Jungwoo looking at him with pitiful eyes. He has to look away before he gets too angry to function.

Taeil sighs. “Yes, I am certain,” he replies gently. “I do not see how Yuta will ever find his way here. The possibility…it is too slight to be significant.”

He leaves shortly after that, and Sicheng tries not to let the disappointment follow him to sleep that night.

***

Sicheng gives birth early in the morning, when the sky is at its palest and the air its coolest.

He wakes Jungwoo up far earlier than usual, but his former handmaid catches on quickly, rushing down the road to the nearest shop to ask the keeper to fetch for the palace physician, as fast as his protruding belly will let him anyways. Jungwoo is the only one who can leave their small home, and the shopkeeper recognizes Jungwoo’s urgency enough to leave their shop unattended to seek out the physician. Jungwoo is back within the hour, just as Sicheng’s belly has started to tighten with contractions.

The process is bloody and exhausting. By the end, Sicheng feels like he may die. Jungwoo stays right beside him the entire time, holding his hand in both of his and letting him squeeze until he can no longer feel the tips of his fingers. Sicheng catalogues Jungwoo’s supportive murmurs in his ear and vows to be the same pillar of strength when it is Jungwoo’s turn to give birth.

His babe is born just as the sun has begun to climb upwards in the sky, birds chirping loudly all around the home. His babe wails loudly, and as the physician slices the cord connecting Sicheng and the infant, its blood-curdling screams already cause the beginnings of a migraine.

“You have a loud one on your hands!” the physician says happily as he cleans off the babe with a spare cloth and wraps it in another one. “He will certainly be a bit of trouble in the future!”

Sicheng blinks wearily, already feeling too tired and longing for sleep. “He?” he asks shakily.

The physician hums, handing off the babe to Jungwoo. “Indeed. You have a son, Sicheng.” 

Jungwoo gently lays the babe in Sicheng’s arms. Sicheng feels tears clouding his vision as he stares down at his babe—his little boy. He has had fears all along that the babe would turn out to be a daughter, but as time went by and his days in the house with Jungwoo stretched on, he began to care less and less whether his babe would be an heir or not. It is not like he will ever see the inside of the palace again, or _any_ palace for that matter, seeing as his father seems perfectly fine with the fact that his third son has gone missing. But as he looks down at his son, he cannot help but think of what could have been.

_This_ is supposed to be the heir to the Islands’ throne. He knows Yuta is out there somewhere, having abdicated the throne and left the palace, but his mind wanders anyway. He still feels a sense of pride at having successfully provided his husband with a son, even if he will never meet him.

“Congratulations, Your Highness,” Jungwoo murmurs sweetly, “he is beautiful.”

Sicheng strokes a finger down the nose of his babe, smiling at how his sweet face scrunches up, his wailing quieting down to small little squeaks and whines that sound too adorable to be angry at.

“He is,” Sicheng agrees, “he is perfect.”

***

Months go by. Jungwoo gives birth to a sweet little girl that is far quieter than Sicheng’s son (a fact that enrages Sicheng to no end). Jungwoo names her Minyoung, while Sicheng’s son remains unnamed. He knows he has to choose one soon, especially if he ever wants his babe to respond and listen to him, but part of him feels wrong for picking a name without Yuta. Jungwoo got to speak with Taeil before he named their daughter, Sicheng feels like he should be able to speak with Yuta. They never did in the palace, his due date was still too far away to be worrying about such things, and he knows he never will, but he cannot help but feel guilty, like he is leaving Yuta out of something so monumental.

Nothing changes. Sicheng still spends his days inside the house, unable to leave unless he is going outside with his son for an hour at a time, sitting in the grass and letting his son gurgle at the different creatures that approach them. Sicheng always pulls him back just before he can get too close, and the outside air is good for both of them.

Taeil visits much more frequently now, but it still is not enough for Jungwoo, especially now that their daughter is born. Sicheng can only feel so sympathetic though, given that Minyoung gets to spend a day with Taeil once every two weeks, while his son will never meet Yuta, if things stay the same.

It has also become more and more clear that this is only a temporary solution. Sicheng has known all along that he cannot live in this tiny house with Jungwoo for the rest of their lives. He does not know Jungwoo and Taeil’s future plans, but he imagines, given the way Taeil looks at Jungwoo, that marriage is on the horizon. If it is, then Jungwoo will eventually move back to the palace to live with his husband, and Sicheng will either stay in the house alone or need to find a permanent residence of his own. If it is not, then Taeil will eventually stop visiting, and Jungwoo and Sicheng will have officially overstayed their welcome in Taeil’s mother’s home. Either way, things will eventually start to change, and given the way Taeil has begun to linger more and more with Jungwoo and Minyoung, change is coming sooner rather than later.

If Sicheng could leave the house, he would be out searching for other places to live, or arranging for transportation off the Islands. Perhaps it is time for him to return to the Southern Forest, and though he is not sure his father would welcome him back, he would feel much safer in his home land than he ever has here.

He feels out of place, unwanted. The world seems so much bigger than it ever has before. Soon, Sicheng will have to make some decisions, for himself and his son. It is terrifying to think about.

It is midday. Jungwoo has taken Minyoung into town, buying groceries and other provisions, he had said. Sicheng has successfully kept his son occupied by shaking around a homemade rattle in his face, snatching it away just before his son can wrap his grubby hands around it and start banging it against something. A knock on the door interrupts their play, and Sicheng freezes, blood running frozen cold. It is not Taeil’s signature, and Jungwoo never knocks, he has never had to.

This is someone unexpected. This is a stranger.

Sicheng picks his son up, thanking the gods when he does not make a sound, and lays him down gently in his bassinet. He lays the rattle down beside him, hoping that it keeps him occupied while Sicheng sees who is at the door, and is potentially kidnapped before the stranger realizes there is an infant inside as well. Sicheng would rather his son babble on obliviously as Sicheng is stolen away than have him be taken alongside him.

He approaches the door slowly. The stranger knocks again, and it speeds Sicheng up. One more knock, and Sicheng feels that his son will start to grow restless, start to cry. His heart thuds dangerously in his chest, and his hand shakes as he reaches out to crack open the door.

His husbands stands on the other side of it.

“Oh, _gods_ ,” Sicheng sobs out, throwing open the door and falling into Yuta’s arms. It feels like heaven when he reaches up to cradle the back of Sicheng’s head, carding his fingers through his hair and stroking soothingly. “I cannot believe you are here. I nearly withered away without you.”

“Fret no more,” Yuta murmurs into Sicheng’s ear, and the sound of his voice has Sicheng melting. “I am here now. We are together again.”

Sicheng whimpers, tucking his face into Yuta’s neck. “How?” he asks. “Where have you been this entire time?”

“It is a long story,” Yuta says, sounding every bit as exhausted as Sicheng has been these past many months. “Madame Kim and your father had a deal that was essentially trafficking faeries on international waters, so I had her poisoned and abdicated the throne before it could be traced back to me. With no heir in my stead, the Council voted on who would replace me. Lord Seo won by a landslide. Every politician inside the palace with ties to Madame Kim was either assassinated or ran away before their sins could catch up to them.”

Sicheng heart pounds. His _father_ , a faerie himself, in collaboration with humans trafficking faeries for slave labor. So much for returning to the Southern Forest. “How did you find me?” Sicheng asks. “Taeil said that you had no idea where I was, that you could not find me even though you left the palace.”

“A lot of begging,” Yuta admits, sound sour about it. “Youngho knew where you were all along. I imagine Taeyong had something to do with your escape?” Sicheng nods into Yuta’s chest, confirming. “It took weeks before he trusted me enough to tell me where you were. By then, you had been gone for close to a year. He was not even sure you would still be here, but I had to try, and bless whichever guardian is watching over us that you are.”

“I missed you,” Sicheng breathes out, tears freely running down his face now. “I woke up the night I left terrified. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that _you_ were responsible for the order of my death.”

“ _Never_ ,” Yuta growls, “I was in my office late that night, filling out paperwork that Madame Kim left behind for me. By morning, everyone had heard of your disappearance, and everyone was blaming me for it. It took months before things returned to normal. I could not send any manpower out to look for you, Madame Kim made sure of that. My only regret is that I was not able to be there when she choked on her own tongue as she died.”

Sicheng shivers. “Are you here to stay? Permanently?”

“Taeil does not know I am here,” Yuta says, “and I will not be alerting him to the fact that I am. Just because Youngho believed me, does not mean that he will. He was among those who made my life very difficult in the months after your disappearance. It was not until I abdicated and got back in contact with Youngho that I found out _he_ was the one that transported you out of the palace.”

“Where will we go?” Sicheng ask. “If we cannot stay here?”

“I am taking you far away from here,” Yuta vows. “I have a home on the other side of the jungle. The journey will be rough, but I have transportation. We can get there in a few weeks’ time. No one knows where I came from when I arrived at the palace with my mother’s letter. They will not know where to look. By the time they think to cross through the jungle, no one will even remember who we are. They will no longer care. We can return to my village and live out our days there.”

Sicheng sniffles. “Truly? We can have a life together?”

“Of course,” Yuta grabs Sicheng’s face in his hands, looking at him with eyes so intense Sicheng cannot help but blush under his gaze. “Sicheng, I never gave up on you. I never believed you were gone for good. I bided my time, I was smart about it, and I found you. I am never letting you go. I love you, Sicheng.”

“I love you too,” Sicheng blubbers, trying not to cry too much as Yuta leans in to kiss him. 

Their mouths meet, and a banging sound starts from inside the house. Sicheng’s heart expands at the confused, somewhat alarmed look on Yuta’s face. His son has apparently realized that Sicheng left the rattle behind with him, and has taken it upon himself to alert him father of his presence.

“What is that?” Yuta asks, regarding the inside of the house with suspicion.

Sicheng smiles warmly. “Your son.”

It is almost amusing, watching as Yuta’s gaze flits down to Sicheng’s flat belly, roaming over his figure that has returned to the shape he held during their wedding. He watches as realization dawns on Yuta’s face, and his heart breaks at the tears that sprout in Yuta’s eyes.

“I never…” he trails off, blinking quickly and looking away from Sicheng, “I did not think I would get to meet him.”

Sicheng cups Yuta’s face, turning his head to look at him properly. “He was born four months ago. He is growing fast. He is loud and disruptive and headache-inducing even on the best of days. He is beautiful though, and so, so perfect.”

Yuta’s smile is watery. “What is his name?”

“He does not have one yet,” Sicheng replies. “I wanted to wait as long as I could. It felt…it did not feel right to name him without you.”

“We c—“ Yuta breaks off, swallows, then tries again. “We can name him together?”

Sicheng grins and nods quickly. “We can.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Yuta gasps, bringing a hand up to clutch at his chest. “My—we have a _son_.” He pulls Sicheng in close to him, and Sicheng dutifully wraps his arms around his husband, unable to wipe the smile off his face even as they both begin to cry in each other’s arms, the emotions just too much for either to handle.

Eventually, Yuta pulls away, eyes still gleaming with unshed tears. “Can I meet him?” he asks, sounding tentative and a little scared. 

Sicheng runs a soothing hand up and down Yuta’s arm. “Of course you can,” he answers gently, stepping aside to let his husband through the door, “come in, please.”

Yuta steps through the entryway, and as Sicheng closes the door behind him, watching Yuta walk carefully over to the bassinet on the far side of the room, reaching inside and scooping their son into his arms to place gentle kisses on his cheek and speak gentle words into his ear, he _finally_ allows himself to imagine a future where he is truly and entirely content. For once in Sicheng’s life, the future shines bright. 

He feels himself filling with warmth at the thought, and he knows, for certain now, that it will be a very long time before he ever feels cold again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they lived happily ever after, the end.


End file.
